


Head Cold

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Head and Hands [4]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, M/M, Psychics, Tiny Teen Wolf Cameo, couldn't help it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mmm. I packed that extra bottle of pills, didn't I?" He was already tired after the flight, and having to pick through the bullshit at the rental counter with a clerk who was thinking about Greg's mouth, and how the first rental car they'd been assigned had a dodgy transmission.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Greg continued driving, but glanced into the back. "If you didn't, we can call the local pharmacist and get something worked out. Oh, hey. There's the sign."</p>
<p>Lake Wobegon.</p>
<p>Will felt the edge of his mouth curling up a little. "Wobegon. Woe-be-gone. Do you have Woe-be-gone coffee here, too?" He could take snow be gone, too, but woe be gone, now there... there was a name for a city. Town. It was like naming Alexandria Youwildieintraffic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Cold

Minnesota.

According to wikipedia, it was known as the 'Land of 10,000 Lakes', and the name was apparently a variation on a Dakota Indian word for 'sky-tinted water'.

The internet had a lot to answer for -- namely, the fact that snow, snow, and more snow hadn't been the first thing listed on the damn website. It wasn't that Will Graham hadn't figured it would be there; it was just that hope sprang eternal in the human breast. Also, years of living in the South had pretty much thinned his blood to the point where just seeing all of that damn snow made him shiver.

Virginia was about as cold as he was used to. There was the odd fly in to a case in the northern part of the country, but those were quick and not situations where he was expected to enjoy himself. And never mind air travel. There were occasions in bed where Greg didn't get quite so intimate with his nuts.

"Hey, so, we're almost there. Seriously, don't laugh when you see the welcome to town sign. Or, well, forget that part. Everybody does." Greg Sanders was all of the things Will had thought he didn't get to have anymore if he was truthful about things. Hot, younger than him, seemed to adore him completely. He was also giving Will a wry grin, cheeks flushed, his hat still pulled down over his ears. "Poppa and Isöaiti came up with Mom and Dad last weekend. Great-Auntie Vilja was having some kind of minor surgery and somebody needed to feed the dogs, and... blah blah blah."

He was also taking him to meet his parents, and that? That was almost scarier than all of the damned snow.

"So, why shouldn't I not-laugh when I see the welcome to town sign?" The only downside was that he'd boarded Mal, because the stress of the travel just wouldn't have taken well for him. He was going to be making such sad eyes at them when they got back.

Greg glanced at him. "You'll understand when you see it. Any second now, as a matter of fact. Also, uh. Did I mention my cousin Andy? Because if I didn't, maybe I should have...."

"Mmm. I packed that extra bottle of pills, didn't I?" He was already tired after the flight, and having to pick through the bullshit at the rental counter with a clerk who was thinking about Greg's mouth, and how the first rental car they'd been assigned had a dodgy transmission.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Greg continued driving, but glanced into the back. "If you didn't, we can call the local pharmacist and get something worked out. Oh, hey. There's the sign."

Lake Wobegon.

Will felt the edge of his mouth curling up a little. "Wobegon. Woe-be-gone. Do you have Woe-be-gone coffee here, too?" He could take snow be gone, too, but woe be gone, now there... there was a name for a city. Town. It was like naming Alexandria Yuwildieintraffic.

"You'd be... okay, nobody's going to be amazed at what you find here. It's pretty quaint -- courthouse downtown, old-fashioned pharmacy, a few neat stores. It's nice so long as you come mostly for family holidays. Oh, and I should warn you. There's the most awful tuna dish that my aunt Dalla makes. Don't, under any circumstances, eat any of it." The blinker made a tik-tik-tik to the left, and they turned carefully down a street with no sign.

Will guessed that most of the trip was going to be like that. "So living off of coffee and baked goods isn't a viable option, huh?" He was kind of fucked up and picky about his food and now he was going to be at the mercy of other cooks. Which was unnecessary, but Will supposed that paranoia and fear weren't rational. It was their nature to be paralyzing.

Greg shot him a sympathetic glance. "Well. Maybe. But don't worry, Isöaiti won't let you go hungry. I promise her cooking isn't going to make you run away." Another tik-tik-tik and they turned right down a street that looked like something out of a Christmas movie. "And you can eat Aunt Dalla's baked goods. Just avoid the tuna thing at all costs."

"Now I'm grimly curious about what's in it." He could offer to make them something, food-wise, but it certainly wouldn't be from Louisiana, since the only things he knew well from home were barbecue and seafood. French, Italian, Spanish cooking, though... He could put together carne asada for them, maybe. Take his turn proving his worth in the kitchen.

"I don't know." The austere way that Greg said that certainly implied that neither of them wanted to know, either. "Just whatever you do, don't eat it. Somebody will sneak it into the trash before she notices that nobody's actually eating any of it. Aaand... here we are."

Will leaned his head back against the seat back for a moment. "Any last minute warnings?" To him, for him, Will was open to all of it. He was going to be very restrained, as introverted as he could be, mentally.

There was no preparing for meeting the in-laws. No matter what he'd thought before they'd caught the plane out of Dulles. The car came to a stop and Greg looked at him. "Whatever you do, no matter how cute they look, do not under any circumstances put your hands down to pet Sven or Svana. Ever."

"Biters?" At least there'd be dogs, and that was a sort of godsend, wasn't it? Even if they were psychotic, he could probably manage them all right. "It's not like I've ever had a dog that's normal."

The engine cut off. Will could see people peeking out of the front windows. "Eh, not always. Just unpredictable, and Sven's got a hip that catches. It makes him cranky, so you can never tell when he'll bite. Also, don't leave food on the floor, and watch out for rugs. Svana doesn't like to go outside when it's this cold, so sometimes rugs are suspiciously damp. At least there's no carpet?"

"Hurrah for hard wood floors. I think I'll be okay with the dogs. And funny hips." Mal after all, had a bad hip, but he was also naturally good-natured. Will started to unbuckle his seat belt, and drifted a little. There were a lot of people peeking and wondering, and a small flurry of activity in the house that Greg and his boyfriend had arrived.

"Also." The front door was opening. "I'm gonna get Isöaiti to teach you some stuff. Or at least maybe she can explain it better than I can, so...." So, Greg opened the door and stood up, waving, and wow. Really, wow, because Will had never had a big family. Molly had been an only child.

That was bizarrely like a wave of humanity coming at them there.

It was enough to make the hair stand up on the nape of his neck, but there wasn't much by way of time between that realization and Greg's family making it out to the car. "Sweetheart!" That had to be his mom; he had the look of her, warm brown eyes, skin tone, dusting of freckles and moles that always made him want to lean in and kiss each one when he saw them on Greg.

"Hey!" That was pure excitement, love, so thick and purely joyous that it made Will warm just to feel it.

It was coming off of them, a relaxed human wave and that wasn't what he associated with the holidays at all. He associated stress and strain and fear and anxiety and there was none of that as he shadowed behind Greg, and lifted a hand in unsteady hello.

"You must be Will." Yes, he must be, and that had to be Greg's dad. He'd recognize the smile anywhere.

"We could all do this inside," another voice in the crowd prompted. "Where it's warm and smells of sheep."

Crooked and overwhelmingly honest as he leaned in to shadow Greg a little. "Why does it smell of sheep inside? Hi, good to meet you..."

Good to meet all of them, in fact, if totally overwhelming. He'd known that was how Greg's family worked, at least on his mother's side -- tight knit and open, close. That didn't mean it wasn't slightly terrifying.

"Oh, that'd be cousin Andy. He's got a knitting thing going on." Greg grinned even as someone bussed his cheek with their lips. "Or so he claims."

"Knitting. Right." Will tried to keep himself closed in on Greg, focused against the buffering warmth and welcome and drifting thoughts of food and there was apple Cider inside with cinnamon sticks that someone wanted to get back to, so Will moved to grab their bags from the back.

"Everyone inside," someone called, an accented voice, older. "You will all freeze, and Greg and his Will would doubtless prefer to greet you all in the warmth."

It was hard not to smile as he shouldered one bag, strap up over his arm before grabbing at the next one. Greg had gone full out Dakine hiking bags like Will did, because it was easier to handle, and neither of them had to think about hands and touching, lingering sensations for Greg on smooth nylon straps clung less than rollerbag handles, easier to grip for him.

"Come on," Greg invited, tilting his head to the side. "I'm pretty sure Auntie Vilja will have us in the old part of the house, upstairs."

Will saw the older man when he spoke, easier with the rest of the family wandering back inside. "As if she has done anything else since the year you were eight and cried because you were supposed to share with your cousins."

"It was adorable." Greg's mom smiled, dimples popping into existence. "There are pictures."

Will couldn't help the reflexive grin he gave as he closed the back door on the rental, and carefully shouldered the present bag, too. "Of you crying for the upstairs room, or...?"

Except that Greg wasn't thinking about little green army men so much as the two of them and a comforter, and the view outside. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask after the pictures."

"What is it about families?" Greg mused. "That the first thing they want to show somebody is proof that you were a brat as a kid?" He was grinning, though, and they walked into the warmth, and back into the tangle of human beings who made up Greg's family. Some of them were watching them with open curiosity, others were trying not to overwhelm them. It was kind of nice, and he could feel pets at the edges of things, the cranky dachshunds barking loudly from behind a baby gate, the sheep somewhere it was contemplating apple peels.

"It means they're proud of the adult you grew into," Will murmured, trying to stay focused, and thank god there were animals, easy to focus in on.

It was true, too. They were proud, and they had been worried about him a great deal more when he was still living in Las Vegas. Considering Will's crappy luck, he would've thought they would be more worried now, but apparently Grissom's response to Greg's abilities had made all of them fretful.

That duck of head was bashful and pleased all at once, Greg glancing up at him through his lashes. He didn't respond, just dropped the handle of the bag in his left hand and leaned close to kiss Will, lips soft and dry and faintly chapped.

He tasted like orange juice and airline peanuts and warmth and home, and Will caught himself smiling against Greg's mouth as he kissed him back, his own hands awkward and grateful that most of their baggage was backpacks that didn't need holding onto more than Greg did.

"Gregor, you should take your Will into the kitchen. Your Isöaiti and your Auntie Vilja have been waiting for you. I will take care of your things." By that, Greg's poppa meant he would get some of the older teenagers to put them away, possibly bribing them with sugar peppermint from his coat pockets. It was, Will realized, a tradition. Greg's poppa always kept some, and that was a fond memory licking at the edges of Greg's thoughts.

"Okay, Poppa." More than okay, because Greg remembered being a teenager bribed with sugar peppermint, and it was sweet.

There was a flow there, a familiarity and a bond that Will could coast on for years as he shifted carefully to shrug off the heavy bag. "Are you sure?"

Oh. That look more or less was a silent call of bullshit. Psychic family, Will reminded himself, and Greg just grinned beside him, moving to pull off his gloves. "I love you, too," Greg told him, tucking his gloves into his back pocket before he reached out to hug the old man.

Will set his bag down with a little less sense of guilt, and watched Greg hug his grandfather. Gave them privacy, let his mind drift over to the sheep and apple peels and warmth, butter, hmn, she was definitely angling for a snack.

The feel of it was different than Will was accustomed to; Mal wanted bacon and greenies, salivated when they grilled steak. The sheep had the same general sense of desire for the snack, but it was tempered somehow. Will didn't even realize that he'd been following Greg until the smell of peeled apples and sugar and cinnamon wafted clearly into his nostrils, and he paused in the kitchen door.

"Gregor!" So much excitement from them, birdlike little old ladies with fluttering hands like Greg's when he got excited, and he enjoyed it when Greg swooped in, laughing, and gave both of them kisses.

He lingered back, awkward and comfortable at the same time because there, there was a place where no one was going to look sideways at him for what he was. Or maybe they would, because they were psychics who had control, focus, the ability to be more than a radio receiver that lacked an off button.

When one of the old ladies turned his way, he steeled himself just a little. She had warm honey-brown eyes that seemed so much younger than the soft creases and wrinkles over her face. "And you are Greg's Will. Come in, there is another chair. Fetch him a knife, Gregor."

Cooking, and cutting for pies, and Will let his mind drift, sliding through the moment, the now instead of the past. Cooking was always dicey like that, but he smiled and pulled a chair out. "I can't promise you quality..."

The lady who was clearly Greg's aunt sniffed. "Hard to damage apples," she told him, watching him closely. "Easier to damage my nephew, but you aren't going to do that." There was a depth of honesty and belief in that statement that seemed profound.

"Auntie Vilja!" Greg protested.

"Pffft. Be a good boy, Gregor, and give your cousin Andy's sheep apple peels," she replied.

It was easier just to let that part slide a little. "She's being really good." Will reached for an apple, and Greg handed him a little concave bladed paring knife that he managed to get a good hold of. "I've never had a dog stay that calm being in such close proximity to treats."

Auntie Vilja laughed. "Andy has all of the training skills in the family. My darlings are terrible."

"Carpet sharks," Greg agreed, reaching out to steal an apple slice. "I warned you about the rugs. Did I tell you that Svana likes to nip heels?"

"Is this why I'm wearing boots?" Will asked, tilting his eyes down to look at the apple as he cut it slowly.

Greg didn't even pause before answering. "Yes. Yes, that is why." He reached out and snagged another slice of apple, and his aunt smacked his knuckles. It made him grin, even as he brought them to his mouth. "Ouch."

She snorted. "Eat the ones that we are not slicing."

"They're not as good."

"That's why we're not slicing them," Will pointed out smoothly. "What are we slicing them for?"

Greg's Isöaiti smiled at him. "Eplekake." As if that explained everything.

He was rather sure that she wanted him to pry, to find out what it was, to put all the pieces together, and that was an odd feeling as he cut more slices and let himself focus off of Greg slowly.

There were a lot of thoughts floating in the atmosphere of the house, all of them varied and interesting. Bits of shared reality, something that felt like the spark of possibility, a weird vibe that seemed like somebody had been reading too much _Twilight_ , and...

Oh.

There were the apples, brown sugar, cinnamon, a dash of allspice, buttermilk, flour, and she smiled at him, continuing to slice apples. "We make several. They eat them too fast, and also someone...." That warm gaze turned Greg's way. "...likes to eat the apples."

"They're good!" Greg protested, leaning down to kiss her cheek, arms wrapping warmly around her shoulders. "I missed you."

Greg meant that from the depths of his heart, his sincerity familiar and comforting as it wrapped around Will, and he kept cutting slowly, careful with what was left of his hands in a way he never was when he wasn't holding a knife. "I think I can follow how to make this."

"Let's see." Ahhh. So this was a thing, then, where they saw what he knew, what he could find out just from his talent. Curiosity, maybe, but he suspected Greg, who was looking at him with lying innocence.

"I'm lucky I actually know how to cook. Baking gets a little dicier, but this one doesn't have to proof, does it?" No, but he knew that, and liked the grin Greg's aunt gave.

"Interesting, your Will," she said, and gave a little motion of her hand to his grandmother, who nodded in return.

"Yes?" Will tilted his head a little, still cutting carefully, stopping at the edges of the core before reaching for another one. Cut right to the chase. Will paused for a moment, apple held tight in his hand. "I've never been anything but open. I don't pry..."

Auntie Vilja gave a funny sound. "Open secrets, this family. No point in being otherwise, is there?"

A slim hand snuck out and stole another apple slice, deftly avoiding the rap aimed for his fingers. "They're telling the truth. You wouldn't believe the trauma I've suffered." He could feel Greg's amusement, though, feel the sneaky grin that crept over his face even without needing to see it. "I'll tell you about some of it later."

He laughed, grinned a little and looked over at Greg. "It does slip my mind that your entire family is psychic friendly. It's... a little surreal."

Will had never been entirely sure about his own family, at least the other side of it. He had been the only one in the admittedly small sampling of family members who might have had any psychic leanings whatsoever. Considering Grissom, he supposed they were just some kind of genetic anomaly.

"It helps," Greg offered. "Being from a family like Mom's." That was pretty specific, and Will could sense the faint reserve, an explanation in the offing. That was for later, too, though, he could tell.

He didn't touch it, and made himself turn the edge of thought away, sliding to the sheep and her tangy tart apple peel treats. "I can tell. You're walking proof of it."

"I have a pretty amazing family." He felt Greg's arms wrap around his shoulders. "A pretty awesome you, too."

The warm mingled scents of Greg and apples and cinnamon were distracting in a deeply pleasant way, and Will breathed it in even as he became aware of a new presence. "Nala! There you are."

Ahhh, the infamous cousin Andy.

"You have a very well trained sheep," Will complimented as he looped an arm around Greg's waist.

"It was quite similar to training dogs," Andy offered, smiling. He seemed less like Greg, more of an anachronism. A person out of sync, maybe. "The hardest part was getting her to wear the socks indoor. Knitted them myself."

Will struggled for a minute to keep smiling, and stretched his fingers against Greg's side. "That's really admirable of you. I've got a dog who's probably trained me more than the other way around."

The faintly piqued interest at that was tempered by a greater curiosity that Will did his best to ignore. "Greg is terrible at it."

"Thanks loads." Yeah, but Greg clearly didn't mind. He was too pleased with Will's arm around him, and he managed to snag another apple slice. "Just because I couldn't get Pomegranate to play with a squeaky...."

"Mal, my current dog, adores Greg. No training required." He was always full of happy when Greg was in the room, and he'd added Greg pretty much immediately to the list of people he wanted as his. Probably while Will had still been in captivity, but given that his other choice had been Jack, hey. Dog had good taste.

"Dogs have good opinions." Auntie Vilja nodded. "Except when they don't." Because dogs were loyal to a fault, and so was Greg, and so was Will.

He could vividly remember the last time that he'd held a conversation with quite so many layers woven into it, but it hadn't been held with two genuinely gentle-seeming old ladies who were related to Greg, while a sheep, two dogs, and some strange cousin lingered near. The environment was relaxing, counterpoint to the depth. "Mmm. I consider Mal corroborating evidence."

"Didn't you have a cat?" Andy was watching them closely, and hell. There was that curiosity again. "Because I thought it didn't like your last boyfriend. Is it true?"

Not the cat part, Will knew, and he stiffened. "That's none of your business, Anderson." He stretched his fingers again, tilting his head a little as he looked at the semi-infamous Andy. It was a brief struggle in self-control not just to drift over there or probe.

"Because he has bad manners." Will could practically feel Greg's teeth grinding together. "And he knows he's not supposed to use his gifts that way." Gifts, not a curse.

Still. Gifts. "It's generally rude to discuss the exes. They're usually exes for a reason." There were still apples to be sliced, but he also wasn't going to let go of Greg just then.

Andy edged closer to the bucket of apple peels. "I'll just, ummm." Yes. Clearly.

By the time Andy and Nala had clop-clopped their way out of the kitchen, some of the tension slid out of Greg. Some. "I swear he was brought up better than that."

Isöaiti gave a quiet hum. "You know as well as any of is that your cousin is awkward with people, kjære. It will not be the last time he asks something when he should already know the answer."

"I only ask those sorts of questions as a prelude to taking someone apart," Will admitted, rubbing his fingers in slow circles against Greg's side, the faint squish of his stomach.

The warm feel of Greg's approval, his enjoyment of that touch, washed over him in a flood that made him take a deep breath in and let it out again. "Andy can't help himself. He's completely emotionally retarded, I don't think he realizes half the time what he's said is..." Yeah.

Will shrugged, and moved his hand, tried to get back to apple slicing, under the watchful eye of Greg's relatives. "I can't say anything. Pot, kettle."

"Boiling pot," Greg offered, and his Isöaiti laughed, shaking her head.

"Always." Always, and that fond affection was a wash of emotion that made Will shiver, made him soften beneath it even if it wasn't for him. He could almost hear Greg rolling his eyes, because he knew what Will was thinking even without being a reader, and he leaned in to place a kiss against Will's temple.

"Mmph. I'm supposed to be trying to help here..." But he liked having Greg sit on his leg, and he liked the close lean, and he relished Greg's grounding firmness.

There went one of those looks again, and he didn't need any supernatural ability to know what was coming next. "And since you're pretty awesome help, I think I heard Stiles saying something about popcorn and cranberries. Apparently they're a little behind this year."

And apparently Greg was the only member of his family with a semi-normal name. "Mmm, Anderson has taken his shame to the garage to attempt to unravel the lights," Auntie Vilja declared.

"Popcorn and cranberries?" He tilted his head, not quite following and trying to stay focused in, to let things happen naturally for once. Sort of.

"Family fun." Greg leaned in and kissed him again, this time soft and sweet, just a little lingering. "We'll end up stabbing our fingers until the popcorn's rusty looking, but it's all good. Have fun here."

"Garland?" Half-stated, half asked as he let Greg lean away. "Huh. Orange peels on the trees outside was as crazy as I've ever gotten."

"You'll be okay?" Yeah, he would be fine. It couldn't be that bad, surely, not with the feel of people everywhere, all of them cheerful and feeling pleased to see one another.

"I'm fine." It was just his grandmother and his aunt, and the vague anxiety that they might try to fix him and only disappoint themselves in the process.

Auntie Vilja waved one gnarled hand. "Go, go. I am sure you have missed bleeding on the popcorn."

Yeah, and Greg kissed him again, like he couldn't resist it, before standing up and heading out.

"He has always been excitable. Loves making the garlands, although he has always been terrible at it." Terrible in a way that ended with bloody popcorn garland, clearly. "But then, sometimes we all like doing things we are not very good at doing."

He wondered if that was a veiled implication of anything at all, or if his hackles were just up, anticipating every experience with family to be some complex interaction where he stood on the outside with his nose pressed against the glass. "Greg's good at everything I've seen him tackle."

One hand gestured, an apple held in it, the knife in her left one. "Then you should see him make the garland, because he is not good at that."

"No worse than Stiles," Isöaiti declared. "And there is, after all, a reason that Anderson is not allowed to make garland."

"I personally try to avoid anything that requires hand eye coordination," Will said, holding up the apple he was trying to carefully slice, bits and fingers missing. He managed damn well despite it, had been lucky in a lot of ways.

Greg filled in the chinks of him that were missing, had been missing or just never there in the first place, who knew which. Even considering all of the parts he had that were fucked up, he was ridiculously happy. His life was something that made him satisfied, more than that, even, and he glanced up in time to see the significant look that passed between the two elderly women.

Gifts. Right.

"Is it rude if I ask what you both do? Greg's told me, but it's always... something else to hear it from a person." The color, the intonation, the sense memories that rose up.

Carefully, Isöaiti laid down her knife and apple. She held out her hands, and he could see the marks on them, old but scored deep, the brands attention-catching. Both hands held a mixture of language, English and what he could only guess was Norwegian. "I was teaching Gregor how to keep from touching things before he was old enough to toddle. My own grandmother taught me."

He could sense it, old warm memories of family and a feeling of home and Greg practicing and then putting his gloves on. It struck him then how lucky he was that Greg took those gloves off in his presence, that he held hands with him, that he managed to keep parts of himself sectioned off.

"Pffft." Clearly that was one of Vilja's favorite sounds. "Luck nothing. That boy adores you, and there is no hiding it. He calls home, he says nothing and everything at once." A glance showed her tucking hair up higher from her temple, and fuck but that must have hurt. So, like him, but not like it was with Gil.

Not open all the time, either, he would imagine.

"No. Not all the time," she agreed. "But enough."

He smiled, felt it filter slowly across his face, and tried to ease himself back a little from Greg's grandmother's drifting easy open memories. "I don't meet many other readers." Not old ones, not ones past their twenties.

Isöaiti went back to paring apples. "We all learn when we're very young. The talents aren't as strong, then. Easier to learn than when you start school, or when you become a young woman or a man." Her mouth curved into a smile. "Many things become difficult then."

"Yes," Vilja agreed. "And you end up tossed out of our village with a baby on the way."

A flashing thought of Poppa Olaf as a damn good looking young man, and Will couldn't help but grin as he resumed his careful cutting. "It seems to have worked out for you all."

And then some. There were so many thoughts, content people everywhere, a couple of kids arguing over how to deploy little green army men, and there was almost a taste to the thoughts, cinnamon and allspice and a dash of smoke, just a hint of a taste. It made him feel mellow, made him relax, and he couldn't help but think that this was doing to be a more pleasant vacation than he had thought.

~*~*~*~

Greg's fingers hurt like hell, but he'd kind of been asking for it, he guessed. He'd heartlessly abandoned Will to his grandmother and Auntie Vilja, sneaking off to stick himself repeatedly while he tried to thread popcorn and cranberries onto a string. At least it had been Stiles and not Andy, considering. The entertainment had been pretty awesome. Stiles was all wide gestures and sarcasm, and Greg could see himself in it, fifteen years earlier, bright and so happy. Excited. It was contagious, and the two of them sort of bounced off of each other until Greg was tired and wrung out.

Clearly he was older than he felt like, considering the plane ride and the vague fretful worry that lingered about how Will was holding up. The fact that he came in a couple of hours later with eplekake and forks and a really fantastic kiss kind of settled that, though, and he sat with them and listened for a while before he'd nudged Greg in that way that was a suggestion without really making one at the same time.

It was sort of a _how about we wrap this up_ gesture, and Will looked sated and warm and relaxed enough that even after the plane ride, Greg was considering trying to get it on under his great aunt's roof.

Yeah, okay, he was more than considering it, and he was just going to be incredibly grateful that they'd be sleeping on the third floor where it was too cold for everybody else. That way he could at least try and tone down the noise even if the whole house probably knew what he was thinking by now, especially if the way Stiles rolled his eyes said anything.

"Dude. Go. Just... go, partake, I'll be down here finishing... ow!" Which summed up a lot of the last half hour, actually.

"I know neither one of us have joints that bend like that," Will teased. The way Stiles fumbled his plate and the threaded needle all at once, dropping the fork was... yeah. Greg remembered being that age.

"C'mon." He snagged Will's elbow. "Let's leave everybody to their own devices. It's been a long day." And they had a pretty amazing bedroom to find.

Greg remembered when everything turned him on and shocked him at the same time, when he'd been stunned at someone would finish a dirty suggestion he'd started. "I'm taking our piece of cake with us."

"Thank god," Stiles muttered, hand over his face. "At least Andy's probably more traumatized than I am." Because Andy was more of a seer and Stiles was a lot less of a touchtype than Greg was.

He couldn't help grinning and palming Will's ass because it was a great ass. "C'mon."

"Going." Will started toward the door in a slow bow legged saunter, grinning over his shoulder at Greg as he carried the cake plate low and half like he'd forgotten what was on it.

Dancing up the stairs was easy, hurried, and Will knew where he was going because Greg did. Up the first flight was easy, and then they went down the hall and he opened a small door that led into the part of the house that still hadn't been modernized. That meant it was cold as hell and the electrical wiring was still pretty old, but it was also completely freaking awesome and Greg's favorite part of the house.

"Tell me why." Will started into the narrow hallway with the old wood, and smiled at Greg as he headed slower now for the door to the bedroom. It was sort of Will's new trick, since the thing with Gil. Asking why, instead of relying entirely on everything he pulled from thin air.

Slipping closer to him, Greg wrapped an arm around him. "We came up every summer. We'd spend most of the time with Auntie Vilja and sometimes it was nice to come somewhere quiet." Very quiet, and he could find happy memories up here in a touch, in the familiarity of the smells around them, musty and home all at once. "Sometimes I'd manage to hide when they went to visit my grandmother on the other side of town."

Will leaned in, plate still carefully held, and nudged a kiss against the side of Greg's jaw. "They didn't have the gifts."

"No." No, they didn't, and they were prejudiced against people who had them, and that was fine, even if it wasn't. He didn't want to deal with them or think about them right now, so he tilted his head, let Will have better access to his throat because he loved that. Loved the feel of that soft mouth, the scrape of Will's scruff against the point of his pulse. "They don't."

"Their loss." Will exhaled softly, a huff of warm air against his skin, and he sucked at the spot he'd kissed. "Your gift is amazing."

God, that was... and the cake was clearly going to be a complete loss. Somehow, he managed to push open the bedroom door and get the plate on the old-fashioned dresser before he just fumbled the whole thing. Will didn't move away, just followed him, and his mouth brushed against the open neck of Greg's shirt, making his breath hitch. "Oh, god."

"I can eat cold cake," Will murmured, sliding his hands down to Greg's hips. "And you know it tastes better when you're sleepy..."

"Yeah." Oh, yeah, and he shifted, got an arm around Will's shoulder even as his other hand slid down the front of him. A tug got his shirt loose, got Greg's hand on his skin, and from there it was a small reach to slip down his hand and pull at the buckle of his belt, get it open so that he could get at the button and the zipper. "Yeah, sleepy cake is good."

"You now, cake later," Will agreed, fingers sliding beneath the edge of his waistband. He knew what made Greg weak, and everything could be a feedback loop if they weren't too careful.

Feedback loops were bad. So bad, because then it all ended too fast, and okay. Greg was tired, but he didn't want this to end. Didn't want Will to stop the thing he was doing to his neck, and wow. Oh, that was... "Yeah. Cake later." Cake later, and he managed to get his fingers on the buttons of Will's shirt, one after another from the bottom up, and this was so what he wanted.

"We might want to move under the covers." Stay warm, huddle up, and Will wanted to fuck him slow and luxurious under the sheets because he didn't like the cold and he did like Greg's heat.

He couldn't help grinning because yeah. That was familiar and kind of wonderful, and he'd turned on the electric blanket somewhere between the first finished popcorn strand and the second. "I like that plan. It's a good plan."

"More, more, now?" WIll half laughed as he nudged him to sit slowly on the edge of the bed.

"Do I ever not want more now?" It was a legitimate question. Greg was pretty sure he's never turned down an offer from Will, and he was equally sure that he had no intention of ever doing that. Instead, he shoved the covers out of the way and slid into the bed. It was old and he kind of rolled toward the center of it, and then Will slid in after him, and yeah.

He really fucking loved him.

He loved the feeling of Will, the brief shiver in his skin as he pressed his palms against Greg's skin, fingers against his stomach and then his shoulder, moving to crouch over Greg and kiss him hard. Raising his own hands, bare and vulnerable, he laid one on Will's shoulder, another low on his hip. They were twisted together, the same and yet apart, and god, it was amazing. Will lapped into his mouth, tongue a deliberate tease, wicked and wanton, and Greg sucked at it lightly before giving a faint, teasing nip. "Hi." Hi because that was how he wanted things to be for them, hi because goodbye wasn't an option. Hi because it was always good to feel just how much they both wanted one another.

"Hi," Will echoed softly, smiling at him before taking another kiss. "I like it when you feel this way with me."

Yeah. "Me, too." A lot, and he gave in to the need of it, the desire to open up and let Will inside. It wasn't casual trespassing with them -- it was open and real, and he couldn't stop the panting gasp that broke from his lips when Will made his way to the hinge of his jaw, found the point of his pulse.

He felt on Will's skin, the moment, the intention, the thought that Will liked cheating the system of sex, liked to read the echo as much as Greg's body, to feel everything and fine tune touches from there. That was fine, that was amazing, in fact, and Will came down on him, slowly settling in a way that made it easy to rock his hips up and get friction, press his dick against the warmth of his stomach. He bit into his lower lip when Will tongued across the winging stretch of his collar bone, stifling a low moan.

Will hummed low in his throat, and stretched his fingertips along Greg's side, rocking slow counterpoint to Greg's. "Beautiful, mine..."

That was true, all of it, the way Will felt it to the core of him. "Yeah." Yeah, and Will was just as much his as he was Will's. They'd gotten in deep from the very start, and now everything they owned was a touch away from happiness instead of the bland depressing shuffle of reality he'd first seen when Jack Crawford had set him up to go looking for Will. Just thinking about it made him stroke a hand up the indention of Will's spine, hand going to cup the back of his neck even as Will's mouth made its way to his left nipple, and fuck but that was amazing.

Gentle rolling pressure of teeth against his skin, and he struggled not to squirm because Will knew how to just make it interesting without pushing it too far for either of them. He was careful with teeth, so careful that it had been hard at first for Greg not to feel his nerves.

Now he was fine, good even, could feel the pleasure that washed over Greg every time, knew how much he loved to bear the mark of Will on his skin. It was better for Will if it was done in ink, but every now and then... Clearly tonight was that time, because he felt the pressure of Will's mouth sucking a faint path of not-quite bruises in a string across his chest to find his other nipple, and fuck. Fuck, but that was good, and Greg shifted, got into a better position so that he could rub one foot down Will's leg, give him a little pressure against his dick.

He liked the slow heat coiling in his stomach, the urge to squirm that he was putting off because Will was lavishing his body with attention. Loved the way Will made his way down, like they had all the time in the world, his mouth leaving behind a faint sting, a steady nip, and he didn’t bother hiding the sounds he made, the little breathless shuddering noises as Will bit at his hipbone, making him want everything. Making him want so much, and the thought that it was a good thing his family had long since learned to tune out that sort of thing made him give a laugh despite himself.

With a house full of psychics, there was no such thing as keeping a secret. He was going to try to stay a little quietly, but Will was grounding himself with mouth and fingers and kisses and Greg wanted to lose himself in the losing, in the linger of Will's mouth.

Somehow, he managed to grab hold of a pillow, muffle the sounds he made. Mostly, which was to say not a lot. It was a good thing they were on the third floor. Will's thumb was stroking against his thigh, a steady motion, and Greg pushed up with his hips, whining and trying to be good. He needed to let Will have him the way he wanted, and needed not to come, not yet. Not when the thumb on his thigh was slipping further along and forcing absolutely obscene noises from him. He needed the slowness, the deliberateness of Will's touch to his skin while he took him apart with touches that were nothing but good, nothing but perfect.

They got into a feedback loop sometimes, and this right now was like that -- Greg could feel Will, feel everything about him, and then he felt the press of a thumb against his hole, and he couldn't stop the aching shudder that worked through him. His hand was firm against the back of Will's neck, and he gasped, back arching up from the old mattress. "Oh, god."

"Mmmm." He stretched, squirmed that thumb in a little further to feel Greg's stomach muscles flex and his thighs shudder.

"Fuck." Fuck, because they were both tired, but he always wanted Will. He'd never stop wanting until he died, he was pretty sure, and the hand on his neck moved to tug faintly at his hair. "Fuck, Will, I...."

"Let me just suck you off and we can sleep," Will promised, murmured against his hip bone.

He let loose a huff of breath, biting his lip. "But I wanna..." Return the favor, yeah, except the way they were linked together right now, it was kind of six of one, half a dozen of another.

It was the same, and he could feel when Will's dick twitched, hard and aching as he eased down to suck Greg's balls while he moved his thumb. All he could manage was a soft whine, hands clutching at the sheets. The electric blanket was warm, almost overwhelming, and he rocked, biting into his lip. God. God, yes. Suction and the friction of Will's mouth, brushing over and over the head of his cock, stopping when he started to get close and squirmy.

Tease. Fucking, fucking tease, and he whimpered, tugged gently at Will's hair because he needed to, because it grounded him. "I hate you." Except he totally didn't. Not even a little.

Will hummed around his cock head, a tilt of glee as he pulled off and nosed his way down to Greg's balls. "You love it."

"Hate you." He laughed when he said it, squirming fitfully, hips pushing up in tiny hitches, and then Will shifted, slipping his thumb out and pushing in with two long fingers.

Oh, god.

He went down on Greg again, sucking hard and making messy slurping noises while he leaned up on one elbow and toyed with Greg's balls. It left him whining and on edge, and he was pretty sure that half the household got the gist of what they were doing right now because they were looped together and probably projecting like hell, and then Will did something so right that he couldn't keep himself together anymore. Squeezed and tugged and exhaled through his nose hard and sucked just right, and Greg came, or Will came, and it didn't matter who because it was both of them.

Their lives were so intertwined sometimes that he didn't know whether he was coming or going, maybe they both were that way, and Will came up over him, all soft mouthed kisses and panting breaths, and he loved him stupidly much. "God, that. You're horrible." And wonderful, and he knew exactly what Greg meant by that because he always did.

"Love that you let me feel you like that." He nudged lips with Greg again, taking more kisses, lingering.

There was no world in which he wouldn't give Will that. Give him everything, actually, anything he wanted. "Bet half the house felt that." And he was just shameless enough that he didn't care.

"Hope it was good watching." Will shifted, slouched down, and half hugged Greg as he laid out beside him. He curled into Will, their skin slightly sweaty, and reached up to fumble at the controls of the electric blanket, getting it down to low before sighing and settling in comfortably against his side.

His entire family would have knowing smiles on their faces come morning, but he didn't really care. So long as they were all there to have them, it was okay by him.

~*~*~*~

There were few things in life Will appreciated more than waking up warm and sweaty and utterly sated. The background noise was bad, loud bad, not bad bad, enough that it only work him in increments with the sense of suddenly being in the midst of the hustle of a shopping mall.

Family. It was kind of a weird experience for him, for so many reasons. It had always been just him and his father, and he had always found quiet niches, spaces with neighbors who were like-minded -- introverts, the elderly. He'd learned to find places like that, and settle into them.

To ease in where he could and savor the peace he made for himself, but this was different. It didn't put his nerves on high alert. Not yet. "Mmm. Getting up?" It was as much a question for himself as it was for Greg.

"Mmmmm. No." Yeah, but he shifted against Will, leaned up to kiss his jaw lightly as he curled an arm around his chest.

Greg's family was the absolute opposite of any of the things in his life that were familiar and kept separate from the rest of the world. They were noisy, friendly. Disturbingly happy, and some of them were brighter spots than the others. Will could find Greg's grandmother, could feel the echo of one of his aunts (the one with the tuna dish, he thought, because she was contemplating it with an amusement that she would deny if anyone asked. She was, apparently, fully aware of the family's feelings about the dish and made it only because she thought it was funny as hell. It did explain a lot about Greg, he supposed), could feel Stiles somewhere, a sleeping spark of interest.

He could also find Andy's sheep, and that was what he was looking for. It was easier to settle into those thought patterns than those of Sven and Svana, who were barking like hell at their child-gated door.

Something neutral to dwell on, neutral and peaceful and he could give everyone their privacy. Sometimes he didn't want to read everything Greg was giving off, liked to have to navigate by touch and sound and the quiver of small muscles.

Greg made another sleepy sound, burrowing into Will's shoulder. "But if we do get up, there'll be pannekaker." His memory of them was vivid -- extremely thin, rolled around fruit and sweet cream, and Will heard the rumble of his stomach growling.

"Breakfast," Will half-agreed, nudging at Greg gently with the palm of his hand. "C'mon. This is why you came home."

"Yeah, you say that now. Wait until the teasing kicks in." His grin said otherwise. They were in the faintly hollowed out center of the old mattress where they had curled together. Rolling out of it was a little more difficult, but Greg managed, groaning and stretching. He was deliciously naked and Will could appreciate the beauty of his ass. The dimple above the curve, the negative space it created. He could admire and enjoy it all, except he had to get up eventually, too.

The bright glance over Greg's shoulder was pretty great, too. "Hey, handsome. Time to rise and shine. The water heater isn't big enough for the whole household, but the stuff up here is hooked up to the old one. I went and lit the pilot light while you were in the kitchen." He was deeply pleased with himself.

"You think ahead." He rolled out, carefully and going over his stomach first, stretching. It was with some horror that his spine pop-pop-pop as he stretched. "You're not looking too shabby yourself this morning."

That grin would never get old, not for as long as he lived. "Yeah? This mutual admiration society we've got going, I think I could enjoy that for another forty or fifty years." He made his way around the bed and curled his hand over the curve of Will's hip. "I'm okay with that."

"Me, too. But we still have to get up." He dropped his hand down, let it linger against Greg's fingers. "And show our faces. Not that there are any secrets in this house."

No. Secrets were for other houses, families who were limited to the standard number of senses, who didn't snatch thoughts and feelings and futures and past from the world around them. "No. But I'll bet we can make Andy blush if we work at it a little."

"For a man who's having a deep relationship with a sheep...." Will shrugged his shoulders, and shifted to stand taller. "I guess that it's hard to pull that off."

A brush of lips against his cheekbone felt perfect. He could feel Greg's skin begin to shiver in response to the cold air even as he pulled away from Will's body. "C'mon. Shower."

"Oh, together?" Will followed, and the heat of his body followed, too.

"Well. There should be plenty of hot water, but you never know. It could run out."

And pigs could fly, too, but he reached for Greg's hand, their hands clasping, and allowed himself to be rugged after him.

He liked the slowness, though, the way Greg lingered and luxuriated in touch and let him drift a little, sliding through his thoughts for a few moments rather than the easy way around in a sheep's mind. It made soaping up a little harder than he'd hoped it would be.

The water was blissfully hot, and it filled the small room with steam, warming it up so that the temperature was a great deal more comfortable by the time they finished and were drying off, it was perfect. They moved around one another with familiarity, Will using his electric razor while Greg stood behind him and ran fingers through his hair, the smell of his hair product a pleasant drift through the air.

The ease and comfort was the best part, had settled in before they moved on to sex, and it made everything easier for Will. He turned and kissed Greg's neck, the faint suggestion of not needing to shave for another day or so.

"Keep that up and we're gonna miss the pannekaker." It was a threat, but not much of one. "And they'll mock us even more than planned." Which was totally all right with both of them.

"Okay. Okay. Pants and a sweater and clothes..." He pulled away, leaving Greg alone before he did derail him entirely. Will made a bit of effort to look presentable, and warm, because there was something about the north that sunk into his bones and made him think of the Shrike.

The kiss at the back of his neck wasn't unexpected, but it was sweet. "C'mon. There'll be apples and cherries. Probably blackberries, too. We used to pick them and someone would put them up to freeze, but it's been a while since I did that."

By that time, Greg had squirmed his way into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that looked like it had seen much better days ten years ago. Will could only imagine what the others might look like since he'd never had anything like a _worst graphic t-shirt found this year_ contest at Christmas before this. He was pretty sure most people just brought out ugly sweaters for the holiday.

Greg was punk rock and Will was cold southerner in so many layers that he felt like Bob Villa on a skiing expedition. He nudged Greg towards the stairs. "I should've brought one of my shooting competition shirts out. We might've matched."

That got him a laugh even as they clattered down to the second floor and on towards the next set of stairs. "Nah. One eyesore per family is probably plenty, right?"

They were a family. No kids, crazy jobs, and a mutt with a bad hip. Just thinking about it made him warm all over.

"I feel like I just stepped out of an Eddie Bauer magazine. Or like a college professor." Which he was, basically, and he could feel Greg's glee rising as they reached the main room.

"Well, yeah. You're a really _hot_ college professor. I'm pretty sure you know how I feel about that." He'd said before, now that Will thought about it, that he'd be the guy sitting in the back wondering how it would be to shag him blind.

"Sounds like a fetish we need to work out some time," Will offered, voice pitched low so not too many people would hear them. Overhear them. In a house full of the talented people...

Ah, well.

That throaty laugh was his, completely and totally. "Uh-huh. School uniforms and everything?" Yeah. Definitely that. He could get behind it, maybe, Greg in grey wool trousers and a dorky kind of pullover sweater vest.

Greg could make any bit of clothing look attractive to Will, even garish t-shirts. "When we're home, yes." Will's hand skirted down to his hip, pulled back when they reached the bottom landing of the stairs and the sound of family moved from overwhelming to _powerful_.

They were something else, something comfortable, something close. Something Jack would probably give his right eye and his left nut to have, actually, would want a cohesive unit of people not only that powerful, but that devoted to one another.

Jack would never, ever get to meet any of Greg's family, not that it had been a possibility before. It was definitely the opposite of possible at any given point, but especially now. "C'mon." Greg's fingers caught his and he tugged, pulling Will towards the dining room instead of the kitchen.

He let himself be pulled, drifting and a little drunk on the disorienting crowd, and sharp activity of the place, coasting like he did when they went grocery shopping or, god help them all, to the mall. It was a little like flipping from page to page in a picture book -- unknown feelings, unattached thoughts, a little bit of this and that followed by the other. Someone thinking about yeast rolls, someone else thinking about sex (because food and sex were things people thought about the most), someone else thinking about presents.

The sharp pang of Gunnar's worry sliced through the middle of it, not heavy, not even truly present, but at the back of his mind, lingering.

He reached for it, didn't pull, but followed the thread of thought gently, opened himself to it in case that worry expanded. The food smelled delicious, clean and sweet and sharp.

"Hand over the strawberries and nobody has to get hurt." Greg's grin matched Stiles's even as Stiles brought the bowl of gooey red stuff closer to his chest.

"Nope. 's mine." It wasn't even strawberry, but Will supposed that wasn't the point.

"There's enough of everything for everyone here, I think..." Will cleared his throat, and mostly savored the warm smells, fresh pastry and bread.

Apparently it was some kind of family game, because Greg abandoned him in order to start stalking Stiles around the table. Somewhere in there, Andy came in with another bowl of gooey red fruit, and it became a game kind of like watching a street huckster shuffle cups. Before he knew it, half of the family had gotten involved, all of them trying to slip bowls full of deliciousness just out of Greg's reach.

It kind of explained a lot, all of the reasons Greg loved his family and was willing to share them with him. They were worth sharing.

They were lovely people, and Will watched in abject amusement, a little disconnected until he felt Greg reach back and paw at his sweater sleeve, pulling him in like a trout on a hook.

"Hey." Just one word, accompanied by a kiss dropped on his mouth, light and sweet. "I'm pretty sure I can pin down Andy's blueberries if you want some."

"is that what they are?" Will slouched a little, smiling goofily.  "I was just enjoying it."

Yeah, he loved that grin. He couldn't help responding to it, pleasure welling up in him as a response. "That's what Andy has. Stiles has raspberries, Summer's hoarding strawberries, pretty sure there are apples and bananas somewhere around here, too. I'll make them share." As if they hadn't all chased one another around the table trying to keep from doing exactly that.

But for someone not in on the game, they'd share. "The food smells delicious." And it was obvious who the main cook was.

Organized chaos was the best descriptor; people came and went at irregular intervals, food appeared and was eaten, and everyone seemed at ease with things as they were. It was loud, but not in a way that mattered, particularly once Will was firmly aware of Nala.

He shifted his attention a little, coasting a bit on the mellow glee of a sheep. Basic needs, tolerable background noise as he tried to remember who was who and what their relation was to Greg. There were a lot of them, and it was frankly easier just to nod and smile and eat pannekaker. Greg had somehow managed to talk Andy out of blueberries, and Summer had left behind the strawberries when her sister asked her to help with wrapping presents. All told, it was fairly calm until Gunnar's phone rang.

The distress that had been in the back of his mind made itself well-known as he answered it, getting up to talk in the front parlor. Sven and Svana were still yapping, but Greg's father simply stepped over the gate and let them run after him, trying to nip his heels.

"Huh." He swallowed a sip of coffee -- laced with cinnamon -- and thought of helping with the cleanup as he half eavesdropped on a conversation with what he could only guess was Greg's other grandmother.

Greg tilted his head, brows coming together. "You okay?"

He was fine. Gunnar was speaking softly, quietly, and it was all background noise. All worry, uncertainty because he didn't enjoy coming home, didn't find his mother's presence comforting, despised his brother. Will understood the feel of that, he supposed. He'd never felt comfortable seeing his father once he left home, either.

"Your father's family reminds me of mine." Will leaned his shoulder against Greg's, and settled back, pulled back from the intrusion and looked at the big dog thing lying calmly inside the door. "What's with the wolf?"

That piqued Greg's interest. "What? Seriously?"

"Hmn, which part?" He felt half compelled to apologize for the randomness, and half compelled to know that Greg _got_ it, and that after a few more hours he'd settle in more calmly with the background noise of those people.

"All the parts," Greg suggested, leaning in and swiping a finger through oozy blueberry filling before bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean. "Although the part about Dad's family doesn't make yours sound that great, to be honest."

"Yeah, I don't visit often. Life's better that way." He didn't dwell on it, because he was an adult, and there was nothing he could do to fix a world of regrets. And the wolf, the wolf... He shifted from Nala, who it should've been trying to eat, and tried to make eye contact even as he leaned over a little. "Hey, buddy. You're really well trained, huh?" 

And thinking bright thoughts of panic which was _novel_.

Stiles's nervous laugh broke Will's concentration. "Oh, yeah, um. Stubbly McStubbleson there, he's, yeah, he's mine, and I will, I think it's time we went outside for a while, huh, buddy?"

Will made a soft tsking noise, and leaned over, piece of bacon in hand because he was suddenly sharply fascinated. "No, it's okay, he's... it's really okay." And he knew not to push, not to share, but maybe he let a little delight slide over. Because there were some things that were so interesting that he couldn't let them go.

Jerking his hand back, Stiles gave a little hiss. "Ow, Derek!"

Greg's brows rose as he looked at Will. "You look like you've seen something fascinating."

"Mmm. C'mon, boy." He held his hand still, nice piece of bacon held out because that wolf was hungry, and cranky and in a human kitchen.

With a human brain.

It was absolutely the most interesting thing he'd ever run into, and that was saying something. Will had felt a lot of emotions, experienced so many thoughts that he had been almost entirely certain that he would never find anything new again.

This utterly defied said expectation.

He held his fingers carefully still as the wolf came over and started to nibble gently on the bacon, let himself ease and relax a little, sensing, not pushing, careful careful, and the peace of the human brain between those ears was amazing in its own way.

The absolute lack of peace that was Stiles's brain was the utter antithesis of that calm, something akin to the whir of a hamster ball with a cat close behind it. "Uh...."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Whatever's on your mind, just let it rest. He already knows whatever it is, anyway. Don't let it stress you out."

"I can't turn it off," Will agreed, glancing up at Stiles and reaching with his other hand of another piece of bacon. "Maybe a raw steak for this guy, huh?"

The loll of that tongue was highly entertaining. "God, no, that's disgusting. And bad for him. Bad for you, bad for all of us, and steak tartar, why is that even a thing?" At least the nervous spill of words seemed to be genetic. Will knew how to deal with that.

"No, that's a great thing for him." And all he could think of for a moment was thick wet lungs, and then it went away in thoughts of chewed on cat, and that wasn't any more appetizing, but he offered the wolf another piece of bacon and let him have it. The only touch he took was a soft stroke over his nose before he sat back and licked his chops, ears perked in a way that implied he would like more bacon.

And eggs.

And possibly pannekaker.

Stiles snorted. "No, trust me, no. You start with the raw steak and suddenly it's rabbits and I'm washing blood out of the bathtub. It never ends with raw steak."

"Voice of a man who's dealt with it before. I'm thinking he should, uh... have a little more breakfast." On a plate, instead of from Will's hand, and Will started to put one together as he said it, shooting looks at Stiles. There was being wound tight, and then there was being so wound tight that he was accidentally neglecting... whatever, whoever, his wolf was.

Best to feed him before he decided the sheep was game.

"You have no idea. Not even the faintest." He was putting together food, though, a plate of all kinds of things that would be incredibly bad for a wolf.

Probably not so bad for a person, though, especially not when Stiles had the plate in one hand and the fingers of his other slipping into the scruff at the back of the wolf's neck. "C'mon, you. Breakfast. _Again_."

Will laughed quietly as he sat back. "He's very well behaved. With Nala here and all."

Stiles snorted. "He's never well behaved, he's just faking it. Ow!" Sharp teeth there.

Honestly, Greg's family was fascinating. More than fascinating, actually. Highly entertaining, and this might end up being the most enjoyable trip Will had taken in a very long time.

The cold outside wasn't bad, when there seemed to be no cold inside. He leaned back, and looked sideways at Greg, taking a sip of his cooling coffee. There was a niggling feeling that he could or should help tidy up a little. Then again, Greg was still munching on his own breakfast, and no one was moving all that quickly to try and clear the table or do anything except poke at one another and enjoy the time together.

So he slouched back and let his mind drift, wondering what was next for the day. It was nice to just sit and lounge, and he and Greg did that enough that he didn't feel antsy. Even with the overwhelming presence of other humans, it felt easy enough. Poppa Olaf was laughing and playing Connect Four with one of Greg's younger cousins at one end of the table, most of the kids were scattered throughout the house, and there was so much laughter. Easy feelings, and the adults were mostly mellow.

Mostly.

Everyone seemed fine except Greg's father. There was tension in the fringes of his mind, and Will took the opportunity of his roaming restlessly to stand up and seek him out, leaving Greg with a tap on the shoulder and a soft, "Hey, I'll be right back."

That earned him a questioning look, but no questions. He hadn't expected any. "Okay."

Greg was accustomed to him, and he knew that whatever urge Will was following, he'd talk to him about it later. They were in a house of the talented, and it made Will feel less like he was standing out oddly, less like he was at odds with the world around him as he clutched his mug and wandered over to where Greg's father was picking at a dish of stuck together ribbon candy. "Hey."

The faint twitch of Gunnar's mouth was familiar. "Morning." He kept picking at the candy, pushing at it. "I expect you probably have some kind of questions."

"I'm curious," he admitted, watching the gesture. "And wanted to know if there's anything I can do."

That warm rush of affection was remarkably familiar, just enough like Greg that it felt like home. "You're just as nice as Greg always says. That's good to know."

"Greg's forgiving of some of my worse habits." That half the time he did things that were undeniably creepy, and that his sense of morals were permanently broken. That was the amazing thing about Greg. "But if there is anything I can do..."

Gunnar shook his head. "It's nothing. Family business. Just..." He glanced towards the table. "I'm afraid my family's nothing like this. I get the feeling you understand that."

"It's all a little foreign," Will murmured, rubbing fingers at the back of his own neck. "Most of the work we do ends up being family business one way or another. It's worth taking seriously if it bothers you."

"It's been bothering me for years. We come home for Christmas. The rest of the time, well. It's easier to call on birthdays, I guess." He shrugged, an easy enough motion, but he didn't stop poking at the ribbon candy. "There are some things it's easier to pretend you don't notice, I guess."

Will could almost taste it on the wavetops of Gunnar's thoughts, a fear and a knotted up ill feeling that was familiar to Will. He took a sip of his coffee, and suggested, "Sometimes pretending you didn't notice just leads to more bad things happening down the road."

One dark brow rose. "I suppose. Some things, it's hard to keep buried. Old corpses don't need to be dug up, I guess." He kept fiddling with the candy. "It's Christmas eve is all. I don't like taking Greg to my mother's house, even if he's grown now."

And Gunnar loved his son, which should have told the man all he needed to know about what his gut said about his mother's house. "Then don't. Enjoy yourself instead. And if there's any corpses to be dug up, I'm going with Greg, so... They'll dig themselves up."

That laugh was a little hard. "That's what worries me, I guess. Greg always keeps on his gloves, has since he was small. Just..." He broke of a piece of candy and seemed to decide it was all right. "Just don't be surprised. By anything. Call it a bad feeling. A suspicion. I don't know."

Now Will felt a little grim, but covered it with another sip of coffee. "If you don't want to see something hard enough... yeah. If there is something, it'll be all right." He shrugged. It'd be put to a rest. It would be over, or just beginning , and maybe that was what they didn't want to do. "So, uh. The wolf. Do you know what's going on there?"

Wide-eyed blink. Clearly not. "That thing John let Stiles bring in is a _wolf_? Seriously?" At least that seemed to lighten the heavy sense of dread. "Are you kidding?"

"Not at all. You thought it was a really big dog?" He flashed a smile when he said it. "It's a good dog. Just. Interesting. I thought you might know the story there." It was a topic change at least, even if it wasn't a good one.

Gunnar shook his head, popping candy into his mouth before he settled on a nearby sofa. "John and Stiles don't always come for Christmas since Claudia died. One of those things, you know? John's the local sheriff where they are. Busy, I guess, and maybe it hurts a little to come back and see family. Claudia's mother was Audun's great-aunt. She's gone now, her husband, too, so it's just us."

Will leaned on the edge of an arm chair, and then shifted to sit on it like a normal person. "So you have it on both sides of your family."

"Both sides of Audun's, yes." That was part of the problem, actually. "The Sanders family doesn't have anything by way of talents. Nothing anyone would admit to, anyway." The astringent tinge of unpleasant memories wafted between them. "When I started seeing Audun, it was... Well. Luckily, we don't live in that world anymore."

Will leaned on the edge of an arm chair, and then shifted to sit on it like a normal person. "Youngest daughter, then?" Will was trying to map the family tree in his head, arranging the relatives. "He has a little bit of the gift as well."

"Youngest daughter of Isöaiti and Auntie Vilja's oldest sister, Almira." That head tilt was familiar. "So I'm guessing that you're able to sense how talented someone is. That's probably pretty rare."

Will shook his head slightly. "I'm never sure how much Greg's explained about what I do. I'm a telepath."

Gunnar leaned back and shrugged. "I know. He worries about you, and about what that means for you."

"I've been a broken telepath for a long time. I know he worries, but... I'm accustomed." His interactions with Gil had been more harrowing, more unsettling for him than many things he'd run into, barring Hannibal. Barring his own torture and being inside of that.

That just earned him a smile. "He wouldn't be who he is if he didn't worry about you. Anyway, you enjoy it. Just a little. It's nice to have someone care." That was clearly the voice of experience, not just reading what Will was broadcasting.

It didn't require a reader to make a guess like that, since Gunnar knew Greg so well. There were fleeting thoughts of past boyfriends, past girlfriends, broken hearts and bad outcomes. And stories of Gil, bits of pain as Greg tried to mutate himself into something he wasn't. "It's unexpected to have someone care."

Gunnar nodded. "And in this family, if one of us cares, the rest of us do. It's pretty inclusive, even if you have a crappy family of your own, or even no family of your own, so enjoy it."

He smiled a little, and took another sip of the cup of coffee. "So you don't mind if I intrude on this thing everyone is avoiding."

"Honestly?" He watched the way Greg's father moistened his lower lip with his tongue, a nervous gesture. "I'd be grateful."

"I'll remind you of that." When it all came out and everyone was looking at him sideways. Will hoped it was nothing, but Gunnar seemed knotted up with tension. "Any holiday traditions I can help with?"

The request seemed to be enough to get his mind off of what was coming, at least a little. "Only a couple or three dozen. Everybody will head out after lunch to see who can find the absolute worst Christmas gift of them all. Chances are good Mr. Furney's Five and Ten will be swamped with Hojems and family. One year, Greg bought Kewpie dolls. Lots and lots of Kewpie dolls."

"So gag gifts writ large?" Will was oddly tempted to get everyone dog biscuits, except the wolf might get offended by it. He wasn't sure, and maybe there was more thought to put into it than just that. "Why Kewpie dolls?"

That kind of mirth was so good, made him feel like something was bubbling up inside of him. "He stripped them all naked first. I'd like to give you the excuse that he was a kid, but he was twenty-six."

He embraced that mirth, warm and more comforting than the coffee was. "What did he do the last time he visited?"

Gunnar rubbed the back of his head. "Nothing nearly as entertaining, I've gotta admit. It was right around the time that he was deciding to look for work outside of Vegas, so...."

So he hadn't been in the best of places, and his life had just begun to unravel. Will could guess at what it had been, that his humor had been faked in the best places, and tamped down. And Gil. "So hopefully this year is a change for the better."

Both brows rose. "I fully expect something this year that'll top any naked Kewpie dolls. I'm a little afraid of it, actually." Except he wasn't. Not even close. He was much happier to know that Greg was absolutely going to be doing something worse than that.

It was kind of wonderful, that sort of genuine affection from a father.

"Sweetheart?" Ah. Audun, peeking through the door at them. "We still haven't wrapped anything. It's all in the box upstairs."

"Ah, I'll let you." Will stood up, and made a gesture, trying to focus down, anything, anywhere but what he expected was a play to get Gunnar into the bedroom and he didn't need to know that about his almost-in-laws. Then again, no one in this house seemed to expect privacy. They did, on the other hand, respect one another in a way that meant nobody had to talk about all of the sex they were having.

Maybe it was just the holiday. Maybe it was family habit. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up that way, wondered if it was something that would have been fun, would have made life entirely different.

It was a little odd, and he finished off his coffee then wandered back to the kitchen, following Greg's thoughts like a lamplight. He was full of amusement and contentment, and Will found him leaning back in a chair across from his grandparents and his great-aunt. Amusingly enough, Svana was in his lap, head nestled against the bend in his arm, eyes closed.

Animals had very good sense in people, Will decided, as he moved in close, snagging a chair idly and letting his mind drift. "Hi. Sorry about that."

Grinning, Greg leaned over and stole a kiss. Svana grunted and let out a huff of breath before nuzzling her way back into a more comfortable position. "Hey. I'm not sorry about anything at all."

There was no visual sign of the too-smart wolf, but Will knew that he and Stiles hadn't gone far. Just to the back yard to argue, and that left Will confused and amused as he focused back in on Greg. "Anything I can do to make that possible?"

That broad grin was so familiar. Blissfully so. "For me to feel sorry after all?"

"Mmmhmn, seems pretty likely I'll get there eventually." He leaned in a little, looking towards Greg's grandparents. It felt odd to not... be doing much. Just to be accepted for what he was, and for no one to care or want something. No one needed him to do anything, wanted him to find anything. Nothing. They could find it themselves, if they wanted. Make it happen, if they wanted.

It was nice.

"Not gonna happen."

Maybe not, and that alone made Poppa Olaf laugh. "Life is good, no?"

"It is." Will leaned back in his chair, "And sometimes that surprises me."

Shocked him, even, because he had never thought this was something his life might become. It wasn't something he had expected to be given. "Pleasantly surprised?" Greg asked him, reaching over and wrapping his fingers around Will's wrist, long and slim and elegant. He didn't need to touch him to know the truth of anything at all.

It just felt good to feel him, to ground himself in Greg. "I could get used to it. So, your father mentioned going out to get gag gifts..."

Yes. Yes, that grin right there was enough to light up the world, and he could tell that Greg's grandparents were feeling supremely mellow. Everyone was, which was crazy for Christmas Eve. "Yeah, about that...."

He didn't have to ask about the flash of memory of eye ball bouncing balls, though he did wonder how Greg was going to package that many of them. "I can't compete."

"Don't worry," he promised. "Your name's on all of them, anyway. Right next to mine, so they'll know who to blame."

"The creative one."  When he got creative, it always felt a little dangerous, a little stupid, and he was always afraid of what was going to come next, or where he might cross a line.

Of what he might do if Greg wasn't there to teach him where the line existed and when to stop. Sometimes he wondered what he'd done before, but mostly he didn't think about it. "When all of those balls go bouncing simultaneously, I'm pretty sure they'll have plenty to say about both of us."

Bouncing down the stairs, and Will smirked a little, trying to keep from laughing as he looked over at Greg's great aunt. "Then you've got that covered. So much for trying to come up with something to help with."

"Next year." Because there would be a next year, and probably Sven and Svana, and doubtless highly entertaining people with some of the most curious habits imaginable.

But for the moment, he was relaxed and out of coffee and enjoying having Greg sit with him. It left him feeling mellow and oddly tired, knowing that there was something out there waiting for him to deal with it.

Greg's thumb rubbed slowly over his pulse, a soothing counterpoint to the feeling of something imminent, something on the horizon, so close. "We could always go out for a walk. Snowballs. Shove Anderson in the hedges." 

"Yeah. I don't think I've ever played in snow." Snow in DC was a hellish affair of ice and car crashes, and snow in cases was usually shoulders up around his ears and stress and frosty noise and pain. He scooted his chair back, well aware that all eyes were on the two of them.

It was easy enough; Greg tugging him up and out of the room, and none of them seemed bothered by it, didn't seem to mind them leaving without so much as a by-your-leave. There were coats and scarves at the door, hats, gloves. They didn't so much seem to belong to anyone as they were there for whoever came by and needed them. Greg rifled through them, pulling out bits that seemed to work, and then he began bundling Will up in them, still with that little secret smile that seemed to say he was going to enjoy the hell out of whatever came next.

He had an urge to hug Greg, randomly, and instead just went with it, drifting a little and grinning as he pulled on a pair of gloves that were too big. There were others, of course there were, but he liked the feel of those, and Greg seemed to, as well. Hell, Greg had gloves for all kinds of seasons and reasons, thin cotton, thick leather, multiple colors and styles. Today's were more like mittens, thick wool with an inner liner that was water-resistant, and Will could feel the plans he seemed to be making at the back of his head.

Snowball fights. Why not?

He shifted his focus away from Greg, wanted it to be a fair fight for at least once. Then again, Greg had all the experience and he wasn't going to cheat and work out how best to make a snowball. "Should we stake out positions, or? All I can think of is that Donald Duck cartoon."

"With the nephews as pinballs?" Greg grinned at him. "I say we go ahead and set up an ambush point. I'll show you how to make the best snowballs, and then...." His eyebrows wriggled with enthusiasm. "We'll go against one another until we find a better target."

"Yes! I want to watch stupid cartoons, now." Will leaned over to rub his arm, and decided he liked that plan best of all. He wasn't used to competing with Greg on anything other than the odd game that Greg kicked his ass in, and their regular paintball sessions with Sheppard and McKay. They got their ass kicked together, then.

Greg's grin was full of energy. "When we're done burying my cousins in snow. Loony Tunes and hot chocolate. Now c'mon."

It was an odd thing to feel anxious over, but it spoke to the importance of Greg in his life.

~*~*~*~

Greg's tension had ratcheted up to match his father's, but they were all tense to the point where it made him wonder why they bothered going. It was clear that everyone enjoyed it almost to the point of wrist-slitting being preferable, but people did strange things for family.

Very strange things, considering Greg had pulled on his thickest set of leather gloves before they'd even left the house -- not good driving ones, but the ones he used at especially bad scenes before he decided exactly what to touch and whether the resulting nose bleed would be worth it.

It put Will in a bit of a mean mood, probably unnecessarily so, but he dealt with life with humor, and waiting for things to go wrong. He was waiting, too, for something to cross his senses, left everything wide open just in case. Left himself open because he had a feeling, something like a tongue probing at a sore tooth.

Something off.

Being open wasn't so bad around the Hojem lot. They were all pretty mellow, and the worst fight so far had been Dalla and Disa bickering about how much chili powder actually went in the chili they were making for supper. Being open on the way to visit people who so clearly left Greg and his parents feeling grim and unhappy, well. It was a completely different matter, then, one that left him suspicious and twitchy. 

Half thoughts and fears and just dread, thick and clinging to everyone in the van, and Will mostly preferred to think about the horror of why on earth Greg's parents had a van, and guesses at what they did in it when they were driving through more than one state.

"Don't think about it," Greg advised, voice a bare murmur. "They'll tell you about their experience with the El Camino at some Pink Floyd concert. That never ends well for anyone."

"Why, were you conceived there?" Will asked, half facetiously, and then realized that, yeah, maybe he shouldn't have whispered anything.

Audun laughed, not her usual kind of laugh, but nice all the same. "Actually, I'm pretty sure that was after a particularly good birthday party with far too many margaritas. It was..."

"LALALALALA," Greg yelled, winking. "Don't damage me!"

He chuckled quietly, grinning at Greg's showmanship, and the brief hands over his ears. "Low level trauma."

"Don't be ridiculous." Gunnar's smile was faintly edged, amusement tempered by his clear worry. "You were conceived on the kitchen table. It was fantastic."

Greg moaned, nudging Will. "Kill me now."

"No sympathy," Will smiled, leaning in to Greg to bump shoulders with him. "I think your parents could start a comedy act."

"It's a good thing I like them," he muttered, and nudged Will back, smiling. Gunnar took a left and the tension in the car began to ratchet upwards again. Greg checked his gloves, as if he needed to be sure that they were properly fitted. He did not like his uncle, and his grandmother made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Will didn't understand why they did this, but he kept his frustration to himself as they made another turn and then started to slow down, approaching a house. "Well." Gunnar parked the van, and they all seemed to steel themselves. "Time for Christmas Eve dinner."

"Don't eat the rice," Greg advised.

"There's snacks back at your grandparents', right?" Will asked, not entirely a joke after that warning.

"And even if there weren't, we'd raid the fridge." Greg's mother was pretty cheerful about that. "Honey, grab your grandmother's present from the back?"

"Got it."

He shook off the urge to take a deep bracing breath, and instead popped the door open slowly and pointedly didn't focus on Greg. It was time to figure out what it was.

The van door slid shut behind them, and Will could feel all of them steeling themselves around him. Greg felt different -- less focused on the possibilities, less aware of what was coming. His parents, on the other hand, seemed to have a damned fine idea of what was coming.

An experience that they considered torture, so Will moved in closer to Greg, took his hand, and muttered not at all quietly, "You're all masochists, and I should know what that looks like. Lead on, MacDuff."

Greg's startled laugh felt good, the way it always did, and it at least sparked smiles in both of his parents. "Yeah, well. What can I say? It's rubbed off on me."

He squeezed Greg's hand, and didn't say that Greg's family was polite enough to probably send brownies to the cops who were going to be eventually called to the house. "It did. In good ways."

In really fantastic ways, actually, and it was a little weird to be thinking that when Gunnar pressed the doorbell. Will was fairly certain that wasn't normal for anyone ever, but that was about as expected.

It took a moment, but when the door finally opened, the woman was tiny. Her hair was cut into a short, stern dark gray cap of hair. "Hello, Gunnar." No hello for anyone else. "Come in. Your brother will be home for dinner."

She left the door open, and Will waited for Greg's parents to pass before they followed her into the hallway. There was a light on, and that was something to consider before he reached out, reached and listened hard to see what the tiny stern woman was thinking.

Huh.

It was a little surprising -- a hodgepodge of anger and regret simultaneously, strange and swirling, a sense of shame underneath it. She regretted that Gunnar was gone, was angry that he'd married into the Hojem family, jealous of the connection he had with them.

It didn't make sense, but thoughts didn't have to make sense, didn't have to have any connection. He didn't want to push, didn't want to make a mark when he was half concerned he might have to call the cops. Instead, he listened.

"You seem like you're doing well, Grandmother," Greg offered, walking inside behind his parents. "I'd like to introduce you to my partner, Will Graham. Will, this is my Grandmother Sanders."

Her lips compressed, and her thoughts turned sour. She didn't like that any more than she liked Greg's talents. Will expected that she'd just love knowing that he could tell what he could do. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Good to meet you, ma'am." He hadn't told Will anything about her, so he just let that dangle awkwardly. "I work with him at the FBI, over at the school."

That seemed to change her perspective a little; mostly because she decided to reinterpret the meaning of partner. "I had heard you were working for the FBI now, Gregor. Come inside. I will get you something to drink."

Hopefully the glass was clean, Will decided a little peevishly even as he smiled over at Greg's mother. She looked long put upon, felt it, and that was heartening. She was old, and the bitterness was tingled with regret, an unpleasant combination worsened by the fact that she lingered on it.

"So how have you been, Mother?"

Tired. Depressed, but unwilling to do anything to get out of her very old and very deep rut. Will squeezed Greg's fingers gently, as they continued to meander around in the entry. "Same as always, Gunnar. Come, come into the parlor." It was too good, and Will had to stifle finishing her unmeant joke.

It was awkward, even moreso because he caught the echo of her thoughts, her feelings. They all settled comfortably in the parlor (an old harvest gold sofa with a complicated brocade pattern, old rockers that seemed like they'd seen their last good day two decades prior), uncomfortable and making everyone shift repeatedly. "Let me help you," Audun offered, and the refusal was nearly immediate.

It was her home, and no one was going to take her from it, and she could still be a good hostess. The mix of urge to reinforce the good old days with an urge to prove to her son that she was still the mother he remembered, even if his memories jarred with hers, was a hard feeling to shake.

Low-level unpleasantness was clearly on the horizon, and it wouldn't be unpleasant, but there was nothing strictly speaking wrong or *illegal* going on, nothing that could be recognized as such. That wasn't what bothered Gunnar, though.

Geir was what bothered Gunnar, and for now, they were honestly just waiting.

Will was waiting for Geir at this point, because now he was sure it had nothing to do with the mother and everything to do with the brother. The FBI comment hadn't spiked her fear, hadn't gotten much of a reaction past the grasping potential for homonyms. "Who wants a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, me!" Greg didn't bother offering help, just got up and strolled towards the dining room entrance as though it was natural. Mostly it was a sheer bloody-minded determination to help just because she'd declined assistance. "I'll carry out cups."

Better Greg than him, and Will relaxed a little, letting his eyes scan the parlor, taking it in, cataloging the nicks in the doors and the smooth lay of wallpaper that was likely antique by now. It could have used a good cleaning, a little borax and a lot of water.

"You shouldn't, Gregor, you shouldn't..." But it was a weak protest from the kitchen and Will could tell it was going to fold.

"It's not a problem, Grandmother." It wasn't, not really, but Will already knew he was showing her his gloved hands. "I promise."

Whether that was to protect her or Greg, Will knew it was her concerns more than concerns for Greg's well being, and he let it slide, held onto the thought and let it go as he listened and waited, half hearing a car come into the drive.

He wasn't the only one to hear it, either; Audun stiffened, shifting closer to Gunnar on the sofa, almost as if she felt the need to be within easy reach of him. Greg came through the doorway, and the set of his shoulders was stiff despite the cups in his hands, carefully balanced.

Will stood up, reached to help with the cups, and handed them out. If anything it would keep his constitution hearty, and that was good, right?

Better than the liquor he could already sense in the system of Greg's uncle, the way he was already unsteady on his feet as he made his way to the door. Unlike Greg and his parents, Geir walked in without knocking, simply moving into the space.

Gunnar shifted, clearing his throat. "Hey, brother. Good to see you."

It was no such thing, and Will had half an urge to position himself between Greg and the world. Or at least, between Greg and Uncle Geir, but he reached out, listened as the man got closer. 

"Gunnar. I see your family's here..."

Saw it and didn't like it. The man had issues locked in boxes, multiple layers of total dickery, and the fact that he managed to hide the sneer when Greg walked closer to Will didn't win him any points. "Yep. Merry Christmas, Uncle Geir." He didn't sound enthusiastic about it, unsurprisingly.

Will took a deep breath, and stepped forward, holding his coffee cup like a useless shield as he held out one less than together hand. It was generally off-putting for people, and he wanted to keep the man unsettled as he introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Greg's partner, Will Graham."

Yeah, he made the immediate mental jump to _partner_ partner, not FBI partner. It was pretty much on par for the mess the guy's mind was. "Yeah, that's unsurprising."

"Geir!" Greg's grandmother at least seemed willing to take him to task. "Be polite. They work together at the FBI."

There was a sharp touch of panic there, and Will smiled in a way he knew was deeply discomfiting, and squeezed the man's fingers tight, Jack's usual _I'm a Bigger Bastard Than You Handshake_. "Great to meet you."

"Same here." Except it wasn't. It so wasn't, and the inner well of ohfuckohfuckohfuck was undeniable. "I guess we should get this show on the road, huh?"

Gunnar's brows rose. "That's the first time you've been in a hurry for dinner in... ever."

"First time for everything." Will leaned back, and clapped Greg gently on the shoulder. And in there he made the mistake of taking a sip of coffee so bitter that it tasted like lysol and leftover Starbucks.

Sweet god above. They hadn't been joking about the food if the coffee could be judged on the same level. He was grateful that there would be food when they made it back to Audun's family.

"I'll help you set the table," Greg offered, reaching up to gently pat Will's hand. He could feel it, the urge to avoid even being in the same room as the man.

Will half wanted to follow, and he mostly wanted to finish baiting the man's nerves. "Okay, I'll uh..." Will knew he was going to stand there. "Never good at being a guest. Sorry."

Audun cleared her throat and stood, waving her hand. "It's fine. It is. I'll just... I'll go and see if Greg needs anything." That seemed to be standard operating procedure for the Sanders family -- avoid confrontation, avoid one another, and especially avoid Geir.

It was fucking bizarre, and Will turned, watched his people leave him there with Gunnar and his brother before giving up on pretense at all. "You were right the first time, Geir. I'm Greg's partner as well as a colleague. I hunt down serial killers for a living. Interesting thing, cold cases."

The flood of images wasn't unexpected -- a little surprising that it had been that easy to trigger them, fire and flesh and fucking Molotov cocktails -- but not unexpected. "Yeah?"

"Mmm. Big cases. The Chesapeake ripper. The Tooth Fairy. The body artist. I do a lot of cold cases. Before coming out here with Greg, I read up on the area. Did you know, there was a spate of murders in the seventies and eighties? All Talented. There were a lot of them, but some of the more vicious ones were pretty close by."

The guy should be sweating bullets, and in his head, he was locking down thought boxes. Will might be a little worried about that if he didn't know he could blow all of them wide open with a little effort. "You don't say."

"They were all burned. Charred bodies found in ditches or hung from charred trees." Will took another sip of the coffee, and smiled as casually as he could manage. "Burning is a horrible way to die. It sears through every nerve in the body, outside first, leaving the victim sharply aware of what's going on. If they're lucky, they inhale fire, and the suffocation kills them quicker."

Yeah. Gunnar was sheet white, and Will could feel the nausea building in him at the description. He almost felt bad about that, but not as much as he should. Not when Geir was a spiraling pit of guilt and remembrance. "Sounds pretty fucking horrible."

"It's horrible. And the smell, the smell clings to your nostrils even when you're dying," Will murmured, making a gesture to his nose. "You smell yourself cooking, burning, if you have any air at all.  I think about these things during the holidays, when people feel their family's losses the most."

Whatever the case, Geir seemed to be getting a pretty good hold on himself by now, almost as if he could block it all out at will. Maybe he could. It probably helped that he generally spent time drinking away the memories. "Yeah. Loss is hardest to handle at the holidays, it's true."

Gunnar seemed queasy sitting there. "I, uh..."

The shuffle of Grandmother Sanders at the doorway caught all of their attention. "Supper is ready."

"Ah, after you, Gunnar?" He waited until Gunnar moved to take the lead, then stepped in close to Geir and murmured, "I'm a telepath. Try and not think about your Molotov  
cocktails, would you?"

Splash of fire and smoke, heat, on the course of a thought. He'd feel smug if his jaw wasn't clamped tight at the thought of Greg, six years old, trailing fingers across something and getting the same burning horror slicing along his skin in a thrust of vicious remembrance. "I'll do my best."

"Atta boy." He'd wait until the entree was served to start digging, gentle pulling, but he had his hooks in with the thought of fire and smoke and because of Greg he was going to keep that man's mind there and see where it went on its little leash.

He was going to get a confession even if it meant wrecking Christmas dinner. Besides, he had a feeling it wouldn't be the first time someone ruined it. It would surprise him if it was the last, for that matter, and they all moved into position around the table according to some unknowable pattern that defied understanding. Greg settled on the far left side of the table nearest his mother, and looked at Will with open hopefulness.

He settled in beside him, because there wasn't any other position that made sense, and reached down to hold Greg's hand briefly when he was seated. And kept his hooks into Geir. The table was set with an older sort of sensibility, a bit much doily and trivet, a decayed urge to decorate. The smells were less than appetizing, truth be told, but everyone dutifully began passing dishes and serving themselves under the watchful eye of the Sanders matriarch. Once everyone seemed to have put enough on their plates to make her happy, she reached to either side for the hands of her family with an expectation that they would be glad to complete the rituals of youth. Will remembered something Greg had said once about there being the Catholics (Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility) facing off against the Lutherans (the Sanctified Brethren, apparently) in the little town. He'd made it sound less like a war and more like college pranks, but all the same.

The intent, to spite and to fight, was there, and it was funny that that memory had been much more open than the faint touches of murdered psychics. He wanted to know the why, the why behind all that work and the rope and the fire. The reasoning for it, and the reason it lingered yet at the edges of his mind in nothing but a memory of smoke and a faint sense of satisfaction.

It was the satisfaction that bothered him, that made him want to poke at the man until the sludge of his sins came spilling out into the light for Will to poke through every single one.

"So." Greg cleared his throat. "I'm enjoying D.C. It's an improvement over Vegas in a lot of ways. I'm mostly in the lab, but I get to go out every now and then. Just enough to keep me from getting bored and to keep up all of my certifications."

"You went to a lot of trouble to get them, and it's stupid to let them lapse. Having another psychic that's field capable on the campus is... It's good." They didn't inflict things on just one or the other of them anymore, much. There was no point in running either of them into the ground when they could hand things off, keep from ending in bloody noses and four day migraines.

Geir snorted. "Doesn't take much to make the feds happy, I'm guessing. They just take it all for gospel."

"They match it with evidence, of course," Will confirmed, "and the willingness of authorities to follow your word is based on past performance and reliability, same as any other law enforcement officer's work. For a court conviction... You need evidence." He pulled then, pulled hard in those hooks, and waited to see what threads would tumble out.

The table was a faint jumble, movement and Will's mind digging into the depths of the past. He was pretty sure Greg was standing between him and everyone else, and there was shouting. Shouting, and suddenly a spill of mental bile, vicious and horrifying, and the worst of it was that the man would do it again.

That he'd done it because his brother had married someone with a gift, and bred a _son_ , and it was so deeply wrong that Will felt the foundation shake beneath him.

"Hey. Hey, are you okay? Is it your head? C'mon."  
There wasn't even a hatred, nothing burning in him, no haunting, but he had enough and he sat back in the old wooden chair -- antique, Mission, lacquered -- and he let his mind skitter off to that as the rest of it continued to slide over him.

"Hey. Hey, c'mon. It's okay." Greg sounded a little frantic, his hands cupped around Will's face. "It's okay, hey. C'mon, let's go into the kitchen and get a drink. C'mon."

He felt dazed, and half fumbled in his pocket for his phone as Greg hauled him up to his feet, and he _stopped_ digging. Because the had the evidence he needed, knew where it was, where it would be, and he needed to call, he needed to call the locals. Needed to call them from somewhere else, because Geir Sanders didn't need to know he was calling anyone. He might have time to hide the evidence, and that was the last thing anyone needed.

He had to make sure that all of it was still there when they got someone on scene. He could call when they left.

It wasn't hard to act impaired, to bring a hand up to his nose like he was Greg and he was feigning that, shit, no, he wasn't feigning, he was bleeding, and strained, and focused on what they needed to do and it was easy for Greg to jumble him into the kitchen once he realized he was bleeding.

"It's okay. Promise. Just... just it's okay." God, he couldn't even imagine. This didn't happen to him, hadn't ever, but it had been a lot of imposing imagery, a flood in his head. He was normally wide open, it was true, but this.

This.

It wasn't just the past, it was the plans for the future, it was the things he thought about Greg, and holy shit, Will wanted to kill him. Will wanted to put his hands around the man's throat and strangle the life out of him. It would solve a lot of problems.

Jail, though. Jail would be nice, a good start. Will coughed, mouth full of snot and blood because he inhaled like he wasn't supposed to and leaned in to hug Greg hard once they were around the corner.

"Hey." The worry on his face was gratifying even as Will hated that he felt that way. "C'mon. You can sit by the back door, let me open it, get some air in. That'll help, promise."

"I..." He couldn't say it, just needed to get Greg to get it, so moving to the back door and then outside in the cold without coats on sounded great, so Will went with it Just did what needed doing, and the cold was amazing. Was so good, and he took in a few deep breaths, sharp with ice, while Greg dampened paper towels at the kitchen sink.

"No, I. I know. I mean, I don't know, but I _know_."

"Okay." He waited for Greg to step outside, and then shut the door gently. "We need to keep him occupied and I need to call the cops. If I have to tie him up down in the basement, I will."

The nod it earned him was a little jerky. "I always kind of knew. Just. It was... Dad was always so careful. And I had a feeling about why he wanted to talk to you, just. Yeah. Okay."

He inhaled hard again, and took the wet paper towel, wiping at his nose. The air burnt his lungs, but the shocking cold of it was what he needed. "He's a sociopath. No regrets."

Greg's thumbs were gentle, one on either temple. "Yeah." Just agreement, soft and easy, as if a nightmare weren't waiting at his uncle's house, as if things weren't probably stored in the attic that would make a man's hair stand on end. "Yeah."

Will didn't need to say anything, didn't need to tell Greg out loud that his uncle had plans, more plans, just leaned into that touch and exhaled. "We should get back. I think it's stopped bleeding."

A quick kiss brushed between his eyebrows, and then Greg leaned back, tugged at him. "Okay. Come on. We'll go back inside. Just... yeah, don't eat the rice."

Maybe he wasn't following Will at all, because Will was considering what bits of furniture to hogtie the bastard with, and he stood up when Greg tugged, feeling confused.

"It's okay." The reiteration was weird, was something that made Will blink. Constant reassurance had never been something that he needed, but this, now. It seemed like he did, and Greg kept a hand on him the entire time, soothing him, only it didn't work as well while he wore his cloves.

"It's not okay, but..." He was going to go with it, let Greg walk him back through the kitchen and to the dining room again. Will immediately looked for Greg's uncle, who was still sitting in his chair, scowling. Gunnar didn't look any happier, and Greg's grandmother was a tangle of emotions, worry and dislike and who the hell knew what else.

They settled in, and Greg ducked his head. "Sorry about that. Sometimes, it just... happens."

Will rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and reached for his fork, taking the clamoring stress of the room for what it was, and trying to work out how best to subdue Geir. "Occasionally, it's a wonder I'm still alive."

"Just occasionally?" Greg joked, as if that was perfectly in tune with the kind of evening they were having. "Good thing you are. Keeps me the same way."

"For which we're grateful." Audun's face was serious.

He dabbed surreptitiously at the edge of his nose with the back of one knuckle, and pretended to take a semi-interested bite of food while he tried to work out what to do next. It was going to be necessary to make some calls, to do... so many things, and he glanced at Greg, at the phone in his lap. 

The light spilling from it brushed gently into the gloom under the table, and his fingers were moving with a kind of confidence, one that belied the message. It was pretty clear what he was doing.

Will tilted his eyes back up and let Greg text his cousin whose father was a sheriff. Someone else would reach out to the locals, then, and they could sit tight and try to drag dinner out. Which was going to be hard. Just thinking about it made him grind his teeth, want to get up and hit Geir hard enough to knock him out. Made him want a lot of things, but he would just have to be patient. Be quiet.

Keep watching.

They were all watching one another, clearly suspicious, and the tension was rising with every second of silence until Gunnar cleared his throat. "Well. Lot of excitement tonight."

The worst part was that he'd been in a relaxed mental place and it took a little concentration to shift from indistinctly scattered and relaxed to something that could handle a simmering threat. "Too much, maybe. So, shall we try for, uh, a semblance of normal conversation?"

He could tell from the way Greg shifted in his seat that whatever was coming out of his mouth was going to bypass any filters he had. It was tempting to shift over and slam a foot down on his, but Will knew he wouldn't be in time. "I'm pretty sure we've never had anything resembling a normal conversation."

Will ate a piece of broccoli, and let himself smile a little. "We can fake it. Politics or religion first, then?"

"Oh, hey, why not start with football first?" Yeah. Greg had definitely been living in Virginia long enough. The only thing more serious than politics or religion was football.

"Team not to be mentioned, or college? I don't suppose you guys would get a Go Hokies joke?" Will grinned, glancing over to Gunnar.

"Not a clue," he admitted. "Go Blue Devils?"

Greg groaned. "I said and said, whatever you do, don't bring up basketball. It's not going to end well, I said. There'll be blood, i said."

"Don't look at me, Tech is only really good at football," Will drawled, leaning back in his chair and easing a little at the uncle's befuddlement.

"They're no Georgia Tech," Gunnar agreed, and he was doing pretty well at faking normality. Greg was good under pressure, and he got it honest, Will supposed.

Grandmother Sanders cleared her throat. "Sports talk at the table is rude. It leaves people disinclined for proper digestion." It was obviously something that had been said before, maybe even stated out of habit.

Well how about your son's proclivity for murder, Will almost asked, but bit back on because backup had not arrived yet. "And what might be a better topic?"

The clearing of Greg's throat sounded and he leaned forwards a little. "Probably nothing we investigate. At a guess, but it's kind of neat, you know. We chase down serial killers. Can't get any cooler than that, right?"

"And dangerous," Will agreed, waving a hand side to side and taking a sip of his water. The coffee was unbearable, and the water tasted like calcium.

At least it wasn't sulphur. "Dangerous in a way that will deprive me of my grandson?" Oddly enough, that thought didn't sit well with her, made her fret. She didn't like his gifts, but Greg was her only grandchild.

"Could. I hope it doesn't, but it could." He was sitting before them with scars on his face and missing fingers, and he was _alive_ , and grateful that Greg had never undergone such pain from direct human hands. Just carelessness.

"I'll be fine. I spend almost all of my time in the lab, Will's only in the classroom these days." Except when they weren't. Then it was anybody's best guess, but neither of them would say as much to her, nor to Greg's parents.

It was bad enough to have said that in front of Greg's parents, but threat didn't pick a job type. Threats lived among them, and occasionally sat across from one at the dinner table. 

Three or four times in his life, and it wasn't funny anymore. "And it's interesting work."

Greg's uncle snorted, leaned forwards. "Mother, I'll be back." He didn't acknowledge the conversation, and it made Will's teeth grind together, made him tense because he didn't want the guy to be out of his sight.

He focused, let himself follow the mind and entrench again, and it got easier every time. Every stretch, every focus, it got easier, even if he was listening all the time. Got more comfortable, and if he didn't watch it, he'd start mirroring, start behaving like the son of a bitch, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"So, um." Greg cleared his throat. "Anyway."

Conversation faltered, all of them looking at one another uncomfortably.

 

"The, uh, roast is delicious, ma'am." And the uncle, he was getting a smoke, which made Will want a smoke, real bad, an old habit that didn't take much to trigger off now and then when it did.

The fact that the roast was dry and stuck to his tongue had nothing to do with anything, and it gained him a look that bordered on pleased. "I'm not as good as I used to be in a kitchen. Not so many to cook for anymore."

He couldn't compare her memories to see if she ever had been a cook, as he was keeping a tight track on the uncle and where he was, and what he was planning, thinking about killing them all again. Not good, not good...

"I'm gonna..." Greg stood up, shaking his head. "Stiles is...."

Working on it and Greg was anxious and working on it was not particularly positive and Will had tried being patient, he had, but if Greg was so kind as to rip that particular bandage off for them all that was good and well, too. "Okay. Gunnar, can you give me a hand outside on the porch?"

"What's going on?" Grandmother Sanders's voice was pitched, fretful, her hands clenched on the table as though she needed to keep hold of herself. "What's wrong?"

Oddly enough, Audun was the one who moved forwards. "Let's go sit in the parlor, Mrs. Sanders. The boys need to...."

"No! Tell me what's wrong!"

"Your boy out there who's smoking on the porch is the town lyncher and burner of many a psychic during his youth, and he didn't stop long ago enough to let it rest." Will spat that out, clipped and not at all careful as he moved fast towards the porch before the commotion was picked up on.

The cry he heard was maybe denial, maybe something else. Fucked if he knew, fucked if he _cared_. The only thing he gave two fucks about was getting to the bastard before he got loose from them.

He opened the porch door with care, saw and sighted the man, before he pivoted to pin him against the wall. Funnily enough, he didn't struggle. He just let Will go for it, probably because even a stupid fucker who prey on other people wasn't crazy enough to struggle against him, not when he was on the edge this way. Not if they had a damn lick of brains, anyhow.

Gunnar stood to the side, shoulders tense, waiting to see if he'd need any help.

The problem was that his hands were caught up holding the bastard's wrists, rather than able to tie him off. "I've got flexcuffs in my coat pocket if you can get them."

HIs erstwhile father-in-law moved quickly to do as he was asked when Geir spoke up "Took you this long to man up?" The verbal sneer didn't have to be seen to be obvious. "You married into a family full of freaks and never even made a move before now."

With care, Gunnar gave Will the cuffs, reached to help him. "Didn't see any reason to expose my family to your kind of evil. There's a reason my kid is always wearing gloves when you're nearby. There's a reason they don't get exposed to you, Geir. You were a miserable bastard when we were kids and you haven't gotten any better. Y'know, there's a reason we called off the wedding and Audun's entire family went with us to Las Vegas. Disa told us that we should elope. The thing is, they're all civilians, Geir. All of 'em. They're good people, and they wouldn't know how to deal with you. Will here? Will knows exactly how to deal with you."

Will could turn him off like a light switch. He was tempted to do as much if the court proceedings down the road looked bad, but he wondered what would prove to be too much for Greg's heart, would mean he'd get too sick to deal with him, what line would be that inch too far. It was better to flexcuff him with care, so as not to abrade his wrists. "And I know where you kept your trophies."

Oh, that bothered him. Bothered him a lot, because he didn't want Will touching them, didn't want anyone to touch them, and Will grimly enjoyed the fact that he'd managed to do as much. "Fuck you."

"Attaboy, there's the spite I was looking for." Will stepped back, but not far. "Locks of hair and rings,  lockets, the declaration bracelets, bits of things, newspaper clippings. And two leathered brands. Will be going into court records."

He could hear Gunnar gag. "Oh god. Jesus. Geir, you sick son of a bitch."

"I'm not saying a thing. Not a word."

It was pretty clear that he didn't understand the way things worked in the world of law enforcement when it came to psychics. That was grimly pleasurable.

"You don't have to. Your treasure cache will say it for the court." Will kept his talons in the man's mind, just gently, waiting for any stray movements because even with his hands behind his back he was dangerous. He had killed so many people, had enjoyed watching them burn to death.

Greg cleared his throat from the doorway, feeling worried, insides crackling in a way that made him feel.... delicate, maybe. "I talked to Uncle John. They're on the way."

He wanted to take Greg home, or back to his aunt's house, and hide him away, make him rest. "Good. Good." Will shook off a little of the simmering hatred that clung from the man, trying to pull back himself while still listening. "We'll just wait."

Geir snarled, a sound more animal than man. "You brought freaks into our home, Gunnar. Freaks! Yeah, Dad was probably rolling in his grave when you started screwing that whore."

"Buddy, you have the right to remain silent and should remain silent unless you want to fall up and down the stairs a few times," Will growled.

Reaching up, Greg ruffled a hand through his hair. "I totally didn't hear that. Nope. Not a thing, and I won't see anything, either, just in case he suddenly gets road rash from the porch steps. Dad, you should go inside. You don't need to hear this." His jaw clenched. "I've got it."

Now that Greg was there, an help was on the way, Gunnar was best positioned to calm his mother down, and Will nodded a little. "It's all right."

He didn't like it, not worth a damn, but still. Greg's father nodded, shoulders shifting twitchily as he turned, his uncle continuing to bitch under his breath. That was enough to make Will slam him against the bricks of the house, hard. He enjoyed the hell out of it.

"Try not to damage him too much." Greg didn't really care, truth be told.

"No, that's it. I'm feeling better now." And hopefully the fucker shut up, but Will shoved his own shoulders back and focused on breathing.

It didn't surprise him when Greg pulled off a glove, breathed in deep, and leaned over to touch him. It was a hand on the back of his neck, soothing, calming.

God, he hadn't known how much he needed that.

That connection, that warmth, grounding touch that made it easier to snap over to Greg, snap back to himself more, and he wished that touch didn't bring with it what Will had just seen. The soft gagging sound was worse than the things still being muttered, and Greg drew in a sharp, unsteady breath. "Jesus fucking Christ, you sick motherfucker."

"He should've been a BAU case," Will muttered, not taking his eyes off of the man, but keeping his brain off of him with determined focus.

"Aunt Disa." Greg's voice was raw. "She didn't see you. She saw around you, saw all the things that would have impacted the people she loved. She just didn't see _you_."

She saw everything that she could see, and Will wondered how many people self censored out of fear and horror of the world around them. "It could have ended badly." So badly, and the mental spin that shook him from all sides meant he didn't have a lot of choice, so he slammed forwards, knocking Greg's uncle against the bricks, and slammed hard at his mind, too, just enough to make him pass out.

It was for the best, honestly.

"Oh, god."

Will stepped back quickly, exhaled hard, and looked at where the man was slumped down against the wall. "He's fine." And still in there, but Will pulled back again with as much care as he could muster. Just like a light switch.

That was all it took, honestly, for Greg to be done and to be in his arms, face buried in his neck as he shook. It was kind of crazy. He could handle crazy. He could handle the crap that came their way, he could handle dealing with Jack, but this was beyond what he could manage. "Oh, fuck. Fuck."

So worried, scared, and Will hugged him tightly, petting at his back and at a loss to understand why Greg was shaking. "It's okay. It's okay..."

Greg's voice cracked. "It really, really isn't. Holy shit. Holy _shit_ , I knew he was a prejudiced bastard, but that. That."

"I know." Skin, back of hands, and Will swallowed back a feeling of revulsion, stroking Greg's back slowly, firmly. "There was a reason my nose was bleeding."

"Yeah." Yeah, and there was a reason Greg was still wearing gloves, his thumbs rubbing hard against Will as if that could help. Make things better. "Yeah, Uncle John said they'd be on their way soon."

"Good." He didn't particularly want to have to flip the man's mind off again, because it wasn't something he wanted to get much practice on. "Good."

Something, anyway. He could still hear Mrs. Sanders inside, could feel her thoughts, strident and upset, but that wasn't his problem right now. For the moment, he was going to stay here, hold Greg, and try to get some of the filth out of his mind.

It was the most important thing, that he get his mind clear as quickly as possible, so he focused on Greg's shaking and the warmth. "I love you."

The huff of breath against his throat felt good. "God, yeah. So much. So much, and I. We could have, any of us could have been, but. Just. God."

The immediacy, of having a threat like that in the family, at holidays, lingering for years in the background of their reality... Will understood it and just quietly hugged him. And held onto him, leaning in close as he could manage to get. "It's taken care of."

"I know." And he did. He did, that was the thing, but for the moment it was them, just them, and it felt... felt right. Felt like things should.

And that was enough.

Geir's arrest had gone quietly after that, and Will had gone to the station to give his statement, while the officers went to Geir's house to retrieve the evidence Will had directed them to. It was a trick they did with psychics, separate them from the retrieval even if they were law enforcement at the same time and space. And that would work until they found time traveling psychics, which Will guessed was possibly a matter of time.

Probably even.

Gifts ran in families, and gifted families tended to marry into other gifted families. Part of it was purely protecting themselves, part of it was shared culture and understanding (something he'd never fully gotten until Greg), but what it amounted to in the end was that gifts grew stronger all the time.

Time traveling psychics would be entertaining as hell, and just as troublesome.

He'd kept himself amused with that until they'd come back with the evidence that Will had cited, vindicating him and damning Gunnar's brother.

Greg had tugged at his gloves the entire time, had refused to look at anyone or anything when they brought it into the office. Guilt by association, maybe, but mostly he was thinking of all the times his father had been alone with his uncle, a retrospective horror of all the things that could have been, imagining things that would never be.

Never would be now. Will took comfort in that, knowing that he could reach out even now and snuff out that life, really flip the switch... It didn't feel good or powerful but it felt safe. It felt like he could keep Greg safe. "Hey, we can go now."

Dark eyes flew up, met his, and he could sense Greg relaxing, leaning into him before he even stood. "Yeah. I wanna go home." Home to his family, home to his grandparents and his Auntie Vilja and the strange assortment of pets currently residing there.

Wolf things and sheep and dogs, and Will felt like he needed to ground himself desperately, bits of coldness clinging to him. That was the hallmark of a psychopath, the coldness that curled around his brain like a lizard.

"C'mon. I'm pretty sure we can get somebody to take us home. It's Christmas, I don't think that anybody would begrudge us a ride." Greg's mouth twitched at the corner. "Even if we've gotta take a ride in the back seat."

"I was going to say Taxi?" Will suggested, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket.

Greg just shook his head. "It's Christmas Eve in Lake Wobegon. Everybody's home but us." Us as in them, us as in law enforcement. Just us.

Us, the people who everyone expected to be around because sometimes one of your nearly-in-laws was a serial killer. Will exhaled, and started to dial his phone. "Your cousin?"

"Andy it is, then." He didn't bother interrupting Will, just let him dial and leaned into him. "Stiles's Jeep is here, but I'm pretty sure that thing is a traffic hazard."

"How come? Jeeps are great." He still kept dialing, but slid an arm around Greg loosely because he could.

That snort seemed amused. Tired, yes, but amused. "It was his mom's. He loves that thing, and he's not used to driving it in snow. Also, Andy drives like somebody's grandmother. We can guarantee we'll get home in one piece."

"i've seen too many grandmothers drive into ditches in Virginia." He finished dialing, though, and let it ring through because Greg was right and he could half imagine that Stiles would drive spastically on snow.

It was unsurprising when Andy picked up on the second ring. _"Hello?"_

"Andy. Greg and I are done here at the precinct, are you available to give us a ride back home?" It was perhaps a little formal, but.

_"Of course."_ Of course because the entire family undoubtedly knew about everything that had happened. _"I'll come immediately. We've saved you something to eat."_

"Thanks." He didn't know if they'd have any appetite, but Will was pretty sure he could always pick through sweet food at the holidays. "Thanks."

_"Hey. You're family. That's what we do."_ That was the weirdest feeling, just... being accepted, and Will didn't know if he would ever get accustomed to it. _"Be there soon. Tell Greg."_

And that was that.

"Right." He handed the phone back to Greg as he thumbed it off and settled down in the chair beside him a little restlessly.

"It's okay." Even if it wasn't. It definitely wasn't, but Greg leaned into him, and that was comforting. "It's gonna be okay."

"At least we..." Will exhaled slowly, and waved his free hand. "It's over in a lot of ways."

That earned him a nod in response, and Greg settled in quietly. They sat there together, arms brushing, and waited. He could feel how tired Greg was, could feel that the officers were having a hard time dealing with some of the things they'd found. Not all of them had family members with Gifts, but it was hard not to know someone who did in Lake Wobegone, apparently. Greg's family alone was pretty big, and they were definitely full of talents.

And the other families had all lost someone. Will closed his eyes, focused on Greg's warmth and familiarity. "But it's over now."

Greg nodded. "I always knew there was something off. When I manifested, it was... I was really young, you know? I mean, it was always there, but I didn't know how to express it, maybe. Dad, though. He'd never let me go there without my gloves, not even when I was really little. I remember trying to take them off once, and he was right there and angry, putting them back on me. As a kid, you know, you see one thing, and you don't get it, but when you're adult an you look back on it...."

"And it all makes sense," Will murmured. "Yeah. Because you don't have context for it when you're young. I'm glad you didn't have context."

"Me, too." That was all he said, leaning more firmly against Will's arm. They were quiet after that, silence reigning comfortably between them, and it was good to feel that way. Good to feel him there, so that by the time Andy arrived, they were both feeling better than they had been.

He just didn't know if it was possible to really recover the holiday after putting away the family sociopath.

~*~*~*~

The entire family had been waiting for them when they got there, a bundle of nerves that Will had been able to feel from miles away. That was the problem with letting people into his life, with getting too close -- he felt them more accurately and from farther away, and this was no exception.

Everyone had wanted to touch them, too, hands patting, Greg being pulled into hugs immediately. It was nothing like Will's life, and it was all so unexpected.

He felt raw and stiff at the same time, and Greg's family was almost an overwhelming cacophony of noise in his mind that he couldn't quite close himself off to, but Greg was right there. His fingers were tangled with Will's, holding him closely until he finally waved both of his hands. "Hey, hey! It's okay. It is, but... We really need to sleep, and you guys need to calm down. I'm pretty sure you're pushing Will into overload."

"Sorry. Sorry. Don't usually have this." Not recently, but he didn't spend a lot of time forcing a serial killer's brain open, and the strain left him feeling every emotional twinge. Even Nala and the wolf seemed to be on edge, although Nala's emotions were less defined, more broadly contrasted and picked up from the humans around her.

Auntie Vilja raised a hand from where she stood in the broad archway entering the kitchen. "All of you back to your current tasks and pleasures, please. Go on. You, and you. Into the kitchen. Come."

The kitchen wasn't bed, though he didn't think putting his head under a pillow would actually have helped no matter how much he wanted to do it just then. Greg tugged and he followed, because that was how things worked. It was juste easier that way, and he did at least feel the warmth and the smell of things long-since eaten as they stepped inside.

Isöaiti moved closer to the table in the kitchen, slowly, a plate in either hand, sitting them down and pulling off plastic wrap. She patted Greg's shoulder when he seated himself, and then kissed Will's forehead. "There we are."

He laughed, a quiet startled noise, the warmth unexpected, but it matched the smell, cinnamon and apples and fresh pastry still lingering in the air. "Sorry we're so late."

"Ah, it is nothing. Doing what needed doing is all, and unpleasant at that, so eat your supper and we will keep the family busy so that you can do your best to feel better."

God, he wished he'd had a grandmother like that, and Greg just looked at him and smiled, tired and sad and happy all at once.

Greg carried too much, knew too much. Not that he wasn't capable of it, it just made Will's chest ache to know that Greg carried the same burden. A burden shared wasn't a burden made lighter, not in that case. "Thank you."

It earned him one of those shoulder pats, and Greg a kiss on the cheek. "We will keep the rest of them busy. Eat your supper and go to rest."

The idea of food was welcome, and the quiet to talk to Greg, to see what he had noticed, possibly. That he had an idea, a concern lingering told him that he needed to say something, because Greg knew, would have picked up on it already. "Still didn't want you to have to see any of that."

He could tell that Greg was waiting, wanting to be sure that Isöaiti and Auntie Vilja were well out of hearing range, never mind that people in that house were never really out of range of anything. "I know. It's kind of what we do, though. You can't protect me from everything, no matter how much you want to. And you don't have to protect me from yourself, no matter how much you may think you do."

"Every once in a while, I wonder what hell I put you through when I cross a line just because I can." When he'd reached out and turned his uncle off. That wasn't something they were supposed to be able to do.

It was dangerous as hell for him to do it.

One shoulder raised in a shrug and Greg reached out for the fork beside his plate. "You don't. I just... It makes me afraid for you, but that's part of our lives, right? You know, no matter what. I don't. I'm not afraid _of_ you. Just for you."

Subtle difference, very subtle, very important. Will shifted, pressed his thigh against Greg's beneath the table. "I don't want you to be afraid for me, either."

That earned him a twitch of Greg's mouth and a look. "Yeah, well. That's not something either of us can do anything about so there's no point in it. What's that saying? Wish in one hand...."

"You're pretty much everything I've ever wished for." He leaned in, and didn't mean to soften the joke at all, but he was tired and needed to start eating except mostly he wanted to wrap bread roll around mashed potatoes and just go to town with his fingers.

Watching those dark eyes soften, cheeks suffusing with color and not a little affection, was wonderful. Feeling his mouth in a slow press of their lips, lower lip soft and just a little damp, made Will relax even after they had pulled away from one another. Greg's voice was quiet and kind of wondrous. "That's the most amazing thing anybody's ever said to me."

"I mean it." And he was scared of crossing lines because of what it would do to Greg, which was as close as he'd ever come to having a boundary in the last decade. He lingered by Greg, smiling against him.

"That's good." Yeah, and Greg's hand cupped the back of his neck, lingering, face serious. "Because I think that may be the only thing keeping you back from doing things that would get you killed, and if that happened, I don't think I could live with myself."

"It's not on you." He met, held Greg's eyes, and then leaned in, nose mushed up against Greg's cheek. "Everything good in the last couple of years? That's on you."

That earned him a warm huff of breath, an arm looped around his shoulder. "Let's just... let's just keep it that way." And if his voice sounded a little strained, well. Will knew why.

He understood it deeply, and held Greg in return. They needed to eat and all of those basic grounding principles for getting back together for but the moment, he needed to hold Greg and feel him. Needed to know that everything was still in its place in the world, and that he hadn't done anything yet that was enough to make Greg run.

God, he hoped he never did, but he knew himself and the urge he felt to push at the boundaries. He'd just have to be strong in his resolve, and keep himself on the straight and narrow.

Relatively straight.

"Okay. Okay. We should eat. You should eat." It burned energy, it burned resolve, and then they could sleep. "Ever made mashed potato sandwiches?"

The laugh that earned him was maybe the best thing about the entire night. "No, but let's go for it."

"Anti Gourmand," Will murmured, ripping a roll in half to patiently flatten it down. "Then you stuff in anything you can."

"Nobody's ever accused me of having overly fancy tastes." Never mind his delicious rack of lamb. He began to do the same with his own roll, hands squishing it down into a flat disc. "Show me this deliciousness of which you speak."

He made a show of demonstrating it to Greg, smearing mashed potatoes on the bottom, and then adding a little piece of ham and some sweet potatoes before folding the top back over the mush. "And this is delicious."

Greg just grinned at him and reached for turkey and cranberry sauce to mash into his own before cramming it into his mouth and chewing with a thoughtful hum. "'s good."

"It works for me," Will agreed. "Great way to handle leftovers and just... comfort food. Like mac and cheese."

Or grilled cheese with tomato soup. Greg just nodded and took another bite, hooking his ankle around Will's carefully. "Eat. I'm about to pass out, anyway. It's been a really long day."

"Yeah. I'm glad... we put this to rest." It wasn't easy or good, really, but it was at an end, the family mystery. He wanted to talk to Greg's father, but the morning would do.

There were a lot of things that would have to happen in the morning.

They sat quietly together, working their way through their plates with mashed potato sandwich rolls until Greg leaned back and patted his belly, waiting for Will to take the last bite of his own. Even then, he didn't say anything -- just pulled Will along by the hand and tugged him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

They didn't stop to talk to anyone, just made their way upstairs and in the morning, they could handle the rest of the family. Will appreciated that, that Greg had the same need to go quiet for a bit.

Will had never been an extrovert; not even close, and Greg came across that way. People who knew him even thought he was extroverted, but the truth was that sometimes he just needed peace and quiet and Will.

This was one of those times.

He pulled at Greg once they were upstairs, keeping him close and comfortable, and mostly he just wanted to sleep. They stripped with skin touching, never parting for long. The silence lay between them, open and easy, something Will couldn't remember having, even with Molly. Hannibal had been silkscreen of reality hiding a morass of darkness behind it. Molly had been exactly what she appeared to be, but she had also been normal, not Gifted. It made a difference, he had to admit, and probably an important difference, for the way he lived his life. Not as much a make of break deal as it had been for Greg's last relationship, but ah. He was tired, and Greg was a restful place.

They curled under the blankets, the cold air settling around them. Sliding close, he draped one arm over Greg and nestled in close to him. He murmured goodnight against the skin of Greg's neck, and gave in to sleep, in the hopes that the next day would bring something like Christmas.

~*~*~*~

The house was louder that morning, and the chill made Will wake up with a cold shoulder and a bit of a shiver because he and Greg had fallen asleep and forgotten to turn on the heater. Luckily, there were plenty of blankets. Greg was still curled on his left side, the covers drawn up close around his neck. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed with color from the chill in contrast with how warm he felt under the blankets, and Will couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing the back of his neck. “Mmmmm.” Nothing else, just a hum of sound, clearly satisfied.

Comfortable, so Will shifted his body, until his hips pressed against the curve of Greg's ass. He still wasn't horny, per se, but the mellow comfort was beautiful. Another light kiss on the back of Greg's neck got him a sigh, followed by Greg shifting until he was better positioned. "Mmm, 's... hey." His voice was a little croaky with sleep.

"Morning." He hugged him close with the arm he had looped over his chest, and didn't move. His mouth tasted like old food, a little salty and bitter.

"Hey," Greg murmured again, pressing his back against Will's chest. "Love mornings like this." When it was cold and the blankets were warm, his nose chilled but the rest of him warm and nestled close.

"Yeah. Too cold to think about getting up yet." He could waste another hour in bed with Greg, easy.

"'kay." Just that, one word, and he sighed, drifting back into a light doze, curled comfortably.

Will drifted on that for a moment, relaxed and Greg in his mellow dozing state between sleep and wakefulness. It was coasting, riding the random bits of thought and soft emotions that went with sleep. Mostly, early morning meant an urge to pee, maybe a side-order of a little horny, but with this kind of cold, Greg was enjoying the heat thrown off by Will's body, the indent of the mattress that rolled them slightly into the middle so that cuddling was the most comfortable way to settle, the heavy weight of the blankets over them.

He knew that eventually they needed to get out of bed. But eventually wasn't in that moment, and Greg was close, familiar, comfortable, safe. Greg was safe. The family was safe, for a while.

"You're thinking really loudly." It was half a protest, half a statement, and Greg yawned. "Stop it."

"Sorry. Sorry. You're comfortable, is all." And he liked how Greg fit against him, spooned like that. His dick pressed right up between Greg's asscheeks, nice and extra warm.

That earned him a huff of laughter, and Greg squirming just a little more because he was evil like that. "Mmmm, yeah. I am pretty comfortable, aren't I?"

"Oh. Comfortable isn't the word," Will murmured, rocking his hips a little.

"Uh-huh." Yeah, and Greg yawned again, but he was clearly awake now, and up for anything Will wanted to try. "They'll come looking for us eventually, but we've got a good hour, at a guess."

"Mm, cuddles or sex, cuddles or sex..." And warm, either way they could be warm and comfortable.

That earned him a tilted smile from Greg, anyway. "There's lube in the nightstand, but you've gotta roll over and get it. 'm cozy here."

"Damn." He huddled in close for a second, and then made the flailing motion to grab for the lube.

It earned him a laugh, and Greg rolled with him just a little, making a snuggling motion even as he rolled. "Uh-huh."

Will shifted, hooked a leg over Greg's hips, and hugged in extra exaggerated once he'd grabbed the lube.

"So." Greg gave a yawn, wide, his jaw cracking with it. He snuggled in tightly. "Now you've got it and me, what's your plan?"

"Warm back up for a minute," Will murmured, pulling him in closer with his leg over Greg's thigh.

"Mmmmm." Yeah, and he tugged the covers up closer to his face, ducking his nose beneath them to warm it up a little. "Kay." Just that easy, and it was almost like mornings at home. Almost.

There was the mellow noise presence of the house in the back of his mind, but it was tolerable as he twisted the lube open one handed. "This is gonna be good," Greg mumbled from underneath the covers, yawning slightly. "Yeah. It's gonna be."

He shifted his hands, one sliding down Greg's belly, easing down to his balls. "Just like this?"

"Mmmmm." Clearly that was exactly like he wanted it, shifting just enough so that Will could stroke just so, the bottom side of his thumb sliding over Greg's half-hard dick, fingers stroking just below. "Yeah. Like that, uh-huh."

He could feel Greg's reaction, could feel his dick firming up, and he could feel his mental reaction, him settling into the groove of a good sensation, but it was still good to hear Greg's voice when his tone dropped soft and low and easy. It was just a little hoarse, ragged at the edges with the beginnings of desire, and he loved the sound of it. One of Greg's hands reached back, cupping Will's ass and pulling him in closer, needy and wanting. He squirmed, ground against Greg's ass and enjoyed the heat while he tried to work out the best way to palm Greg and start to play with his ass.

Sometimes, it was like Greg read his mind instead of the other way around because he huffed a laugh and shifted, squirming himself a little more onto his front as he reached down to replace Will's hand with his own. "Okay, yeah, I...."

"Mmm, yeah, that works." Gave him room to move his fingers and slide them back around, to get a little lube on them.

Greg hummed again, clearly best pleased by the sleepy morning snuggle sex they had going on, squirming into a position easier for Will to reach him. "Uh-huh."

He eased slick fingers between his asscheeks, teasing a finger against the tight pucker of his asshole. It made Greg squirm, made him shift in a way that was all invitation, delicious and perfect, and then he heard the squeal of a hinge from down the hall. What the hell?

Why was anyone even on their floor? He exhaled, and held his fingers very still, letting his mind reach out.

Huh.

Well, he hadn't exactly expected their guest, but he supposes that he should have. The house had been in an uproar most of the evening wanting to know what was going on, and sneaky was kind of in the blood. It was just surprising that no one had come sooner, and that it was as reasonably subtle as a wolf padding its way to the bedroom door and giving a huff of breath.

"Ooof. Visitor. Your cousin's shapechanger thing." Will whispered, pulling his fingers back slowly.

"Seriously?" Greg muttered it into his pillow. "I'm starting to change my mind about which cousin is my favorite."

"If I could change shapes, you'd have to put up with that a lot," he promised, shifting out of the bed slowly, and snagging his boxers.

With a sigh, Greg rolled into the hollow at the center of the bed, tugging the covers up to his throat. "I can only imagine. That's a mystery I'd like to dig into. Do you think his dad knows?"

Ridiculous question, because all Will had to do was probe a little to find out, but that wasn't how the game worked. Will was always on, but he could ignore some things with a little effort.

And he was making that little effort so he could enjoy himself, worth doing so he could relax when he padded over to the door and opened it. "Hey, buddy."

Yeah. That huff of breath was impatient, and Derek sat, waiting.

"I know," Greg mumbled. "I might as well get up."

"Are you a professional cock block, buddy, or just an amateur one?" Will asked, amused as he stepped away from the door, and wandered to get pants and a sweater.

Another huff of breath, and that was sheer amusement, enough that he got up and followed Will inside, jumping onto the bed. It got him what he wanted -- Greg squeaked and rolled out on the other side, and yeah. This was so much better than last night.

"Professional," Will decided, pulling his sweater on with a fast motion because it was warmer with clothes on. "I'll make sure there's coffee for you, Greg."

"So many reasons that I love you," Greg offered from the side of the bed, eying Stiles's... whatever. "Most of which involve the fact that you don't try to get between me and my caffeine."

"I'm a smart man, and your interests are my interests," Will smiled as he pulled on sweat pants and reached out to nudge the dog. "C'mon. Has the present opening started?"

Greg snorted. "Even if it's a wolf, it can't tell you that. But probably." He was reaching for socks and a t-shirt, so Will just hummed and headed for the stairs.

"Sure it can." The wolf was thinking about bacon and socks and peeing on the tree, and there were glimpses of people, which was enough for Will. He was pretty sure if he was shape-shifted, he might pee on the tree, too.

Just to see what would happen.

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened to a well of heat that felt delicious and oppressive simultaneously as he strolled towards the open stairs to the first floor. He could hear everyone below, could smell breakfast, and definitely coffee.

If Greg didn't come down in five minutes, he was going to get a cup of coffee and stand at the bottom of the stairs. "Morning."

Isöaiti waved a hand in greeting and then promptly stared at Will's companion until he slunk away almost sheepishly. The amusement value of this family was.... He'd never experienced anything like it. "Good morning, William. Breakfast is in the dining room, coffee is by the sink, yes?"

"Greg's gathering the strength to come down," Will murmured. The mood seemed a little better, a lot better, but he still wanted to talk to Gunnar. Later. There was a holiday to enjoy.

Auntie Vilja looked up from her knitting. They were pretty much always together, so it wasn't so much a shock as one might think. "You shouldn't worry about it so. We all know, and everyone is waiting for presents to be opened together. Even Anderson, who objected mightily."

"Pfah. He objects every year."

"More time to snack a little." He wandered to the kitchen to pour coffee to himself, intent on ducking into the dining room for a few minutes to fill a plate full of food.

"You would think, as old as they are, that he would be less agitated about opening presents," he heard Auntie Vilja chide behind him. "The children are less demanding!"

Will chuckled quietly, taking his time casually, putting sweet food and pancakes and bits of interesting bread things on his plate, and he was going to avoid the bacon just then. It was for the best, and he didn't think Greg would be interested in it, either. All things considered.

He was still eyeing strawberries when Greg slipped in behind him, arms going around his waist from behind. "Oh, those. Definitely those."

"Oof, you feel good." He leaned back a little, letting the muzzy relaxed feeling slip into his senses.

"I always feel good, or at least you think so." Yeah, he did, kind of, and Greg hooked his chin over Will's shoulder. "Andy's probably having kittens. You'd think he'd outgrow the need to open presents immediately."

"So I can just sit there, and eat while he tears through things?" Will mused, piling strawberries up. He was pretty sure Greg would eat off of his plate and there was plenty of food to go around.

He felt the shrug of those shoulders. "Pretty much, yeah. We're in a weird awkward stage between generations. No small kids yet, so Andy pretty much just has to do his best to continue with the enthusiasm of a six year old."

"Hadn't thought of it that way." He turned his head, nudged Greg gently. "I love you. C'mon, let's eat."

The noise in the family room became louder the closer they got, and the sound of Andy was louder than all of them when they walked in. "Well, finally!"

Greg snorted. "You're not six, Andy. No matter how much it seems like it sometimes."

"I was distracted by the food." And halfway wanted to contribute something to the cooking; something fish-related, which was still a safe meat. Definitely nothing seared or blackened, though.

Definitely not the tuna casserole. At all. Ever.

Dalla beamed at him, and it was like she knew he was thinking about it. "So hand out all of the presents already."

"The joy of putting smiles on the faces of my family..." Will settled into the sofa with Greg, offering him his plate as he started to dig through pancakes. The wolf was happy as hell, which was just funny.

He'd never had much by way of family, so their rituals at holidays had been sparse to say the least. He'd get a couple of presents, they'd eat something vaguely holiday related... Nothing much. This was entirely different, and he startled a little when Greg moved from beside him, Andy getting up from the floor, Stiles abandoning his... Friend.

Disa leaned close to him. "You should have seen them when they were kids. It was adorable. They were in college by the time Stiles was old enough to help. There are pictures." 

"Are these pictures available for viewing?" And use as blackmail, Will decided as he grinned at Greg's aunt. The flow was methodical, well-practiced, and Will watched it, lost himself in the flow, in the general feeling of good will and the sleepiness that lingered in most of the participants.

"If I can't find them before you go, we'll scan them in. Everyone should witness the wonder of Greg's asymmetric cut from the year he was fourteen."

He could see it, sharp lines and Greg's big wide eyes that seemed adorable in a way that Will knew was deeply biased. "No one survived the eighties unscathed."

A present was thrust into his hands, Stiles standing in front of him with a wide grin. "I did."

Andy yelled. "Because you weren't born until the next decade!"

"Not my problem," Stiles informed the room at large, skating out of Andy's reach when he came past.

He half wanted to make a joke about flannel, but it seemed as it if had come back around, and he was an offender of flannel, so it was best not to enter the fray. Will let his mind coast, erring to the older relatives, their horror from the previous night tamped down.

It was good to know they could do that, could let something free, not let it linger to the point of detriment. Gunnar was still a wreck (not unexpectedly) and was worried about his mother, who had refused to come to Auntie Vilja's house despite the offer. The rest of the family seemed determined not to let anything ruin their Christmas, though.

"Hey." Greg nudged a present into his hands. "Stop thinking so hard."

"Sorry." He smiled, and he tilted his head a little as he pulled at the paper a little. Trying to seem a bit more normal.

Just because Greg knew he wasn't, well. It was no reason not to enjoy the moment, anyway. Maybe it was even a good reason for enjoying it. The thing about most relationships came down to: everyone has secrets. It didn't work that way with them. Will could read minds and Greg could read reality with a touch of his fingers.

Sometimes he could mask intent, for a few moments, by acting and not thinking, and that was all. It wasn't even a secret. At least he didn't know what was in the gift before it was opened, and Greg had to have had some great Christmases with that skill. "So how do you plan surprises when the entire family is like us?"

Disa tilted her head to the side. "Extraordinarily carefully." She waved a hand at the room in general. "Not all of us are talented in the same way. Greg's gifts were the worst to hide when he was little, but we always managed. Usually by sending a list to Auntie Vilja. She wouldn't even open the envelope, just took it to the store and had people drop the presents into containing boxes so that she didn't know what was in them. They'd wear gloves. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Stiles has a particular ability to ferret out gifts, actually. Andy not so much, and Olga, let me tell you. My Olga was a misery. She's more like you. There was never any hiding anything."

"If you can just not think about it, you can dodge most of us," Will drawled, but that was the pink elephant issue, wasn't it?

The amused look she cast him said as much. "Yeah, pretty sure you know how well that works."

"I know that most people immediately start thinking of the most embarrassing thing possible when I suggest it," Will noted wryly, offering Greg a bite of something that had cinnamon in it as he settled into the chair next to him.

Even with the pastry in his mouth, Greg gave an enthusiastic nod. "Yeah, like that one time with the paintball and McKay and the _thing_?"

"And we still lost," Will mourned as he pulled at the wrapping paper to finish opening whatever the gift was.

"We're never going to beat them," Greg agreed, watching as Will continued his careful unwrapping. The rest of the room was a rustle of torn paper, yells, laughter. It felt amazing. "But that's all right. We're not kickass generals or, you know. Scary military scientists, either. It's for the best. I don't think I'd wanna work under McKay. He'd eat me for breakfast."

"All of us," Will agreed, and looked at Disa and added, "Partner of a fellow teacher at the academy. He's... priceless."

Greg leaned around him. "I've seen him make grown men cry like little boys. No kidding." No, and he was holding onto one of his boxes, as if just that held some sort of pleasure for him.

Maybe it did, the feeling of someone wanting to put together a gift for him, the emotions that went into a purchase. So he hesitated to open the box, just yet. It was kind of sweet, a general sense of pleasure, sleepy and saying something like _home_. Their shoulders were pressed together, and Will flipped open the flaps of the box containing his present.

"I want you to remember this the next time I feel guilty for being a little creepy," Will deadpanned, staring down into the face of a kewpie doll while Greg burst out laughing. The spark of satisfaction from Poppa Olaf was a clear declaration of the source for Greg's occasionally warped sense of humor. At least he could be sure that it was genetic.

Leaning down, Greg grabbed one of his own boxes carefully, sleeve covering the fingers that hooked under the ribbon. "Open this one for me."

"You just want to peek over my shoulder?" He started, though, moving slowly, deliberately so Greg could have a dabble of anticipation while he still fought back the urge to chuckle.

"Uh-huh." Simple, easy. It was like a little bubble of pleasure that held both of them together despite the noise around him, and it gave Will a sense of peace, of belonging.

A sense that no matter how strange and stressful things turned, Greg would continue to be there. Despite that he could flip a man off like a lightswitch. He didn't look at the gift first, just help the edges of the box back for Greg. There was a wash of warmth, a laugh that made him want to kiss him, and no reason not to do exactly that.

It was soft and sweet and greeted by a variety of catcalls. He mock-pumped his fist in the air, and then leaned in more to Greg, breaking it off before it took a turn for the hornier.

He could tell that Greg's grandmother knew exactly why he did it, too. The fact that Greg's entire family was talented was weird and comfortable, and Will had never thought he would have anything like it.

It was better than anything that could come in a box, that sort of acceptance. It was nothing he had ever thought he would have, and he looked around, took close stock of everyone there.

Andy was showing off some sort of knitting pattern to one of the other cousins (he couldn't remember which one), Greg's grandparents were holding court in a corner. Dalla was beckoning for Disa, and Stiles was shaking a Kong full of peanut butter at Derek-the-Not-Quite-A-Wolf, earning himself filthy growls that were full of irritation and fondness. Will thought maybe next year he would give serious consideration to attending as his other self, just to avoid that particular gift.

Because there was no amount of yelling or real human growling that would keep Stiles from offering the Kong full of peanut butter. "You know, Mal'd like that a lot."

"We'll give him that one, because I know and you know there's no way that thing is going home with them. Stiles's friend will leave it stuffed under the most convenient bit of furniture as soon as possible."

"That's a new one even for me," Will murmured, watching Greg poke at the new set of gloves enclosed in the box.

With a shrug, Greg reached in for the gloves, smoothing them onto his hands with pleasure before reaching for the next box. "Well. Logic dictates that if we exist...."

"Others must, too?" Quietly, carefully. Maybe psychics had done the wrong thing in getting caught, getting outed by society. It made Will wonder what else was quietly hiding.

Greg tossed him a grin. "Cthulhu. That's all I'm saying. Cthulhu."

Tentacle monsters. Of course that was what Greg would come up with.

"No, no, some world bending horror?" All he could think of was the blood eagle, a neat solution and a resolution of justice and a horror all a once, and to extrapolate worse than the worst were capable of was enough to make Will slow his chewing. "Well."

That seemed to lead to some pretty explicit images, much less Cthulhu and much more anime. Sometimes, he had to say that Greg had questionable taste. Neither of them were ever going to ask Sheppard and McKay about That One Time With The Vines And The Things. Never mind that they'd seen it; that was bad enough. "Well."

"Oh. Oh, that's a lot better," Will half-hummed as he shifted to tuck a leg under himself while he finished his food, sweet and tasty.

Short work was made of Greg's wrapping until he was holding up a DVD box set and waving it at Will, wriggling his eyebrows. "I have my laptop. We could escape this lot and..."

"Oh, no. No escaping!" Will wasn't even sure who said it, because there were multiple people thinking it, as well.

"Later then," Will grinned, shifting to slide an arm around Greg. There was fun in watching other people open their gifts, in watching their reactions. He knew that Greg had a couple of presents upstairs for them to open later, and that was nice, too. Kind of surprising when he handed one of the boxes over, though.

He snorted. "Don't give me that look. Of course you have more than one present. Although if Kewpie dolls are the standard start...."

He leaned in, and kissed Greg's nose, half tempted to rattle the box. "Still, I'm bad at gifts and picking things..."

"Because you think about it too hard." Or maybe just knew what people wanted and felt guilty if he went the easy route.

The rest of the family was a welter of noise and paper rattling, making him feel a little slow about things. Greg didn't mind, which was one of the reasons that things worked out so well between them. He couldn't handle his guilt about the oddest things, and Will basked in the slowness, careful with his fingers as he opened the wrapping and kept peeking at Greg's face, even though he could feel everything.

**Author's Note:**

> And if you guys wanna know how it all worked out, well, we'll email you the previous four version. Yes, we redo this every Christmas, and we're fucking tired of it. This is surrender.:D MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS! We'll have to find something new to write this Christmas.


End file.
